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THE LIBRARY OF THE 
UNIVERSITY OF 
NORTH CAROLINA 








UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HI 


HUT 


00013468099 

























































































~ 
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Seat al 


{his book is due at the LOUIS R. WILSON LIBRARY on the 
last date stamped under “Date Due.” If not on hold it may be 
renewed by bringing it to the library. 


RET. 





meena. 








A 


THE POSSESSED 


THE NOVELS OF 
FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY 
Vo.tumeE III 


THE 
NOVELS OF FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY 


Translated from the Russian by CONSTANCE 
GARNETT. Crown 8vo. 


THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV 
THE IDIOT 

THE POSSESSED 

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 
THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD 
THE INSULTED AND INJURED 
A RAW YOUTH 

THE ETERNAL HUSBAND 

THE GAMBLER and other Stories 
WHITE NIGHTS 

AN HONEST THIEF 

THE FRIEND OF THE FAMILY 


NEW YORK 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 


THE POSSESSED 


A NOVEL IN THREE PARTS BY 
FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY 


FROM THE RUSSIAN BY j 
CONSTANCE GARNETT / 


NEW YORK 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
1928 


PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY RICHARD CLAY & Sons, Lrairep, 
BUNGAY, SUFFOLK, 


“ Strike me dead, the track has vanished, 
Well, what now? We've lost the way, 
Demons have bewitched our horses, 
Led us in the wilds astray. 


What a number! Whither drift they ? 
What’s the mournful dirge they sing ? 
Do they hail a witch’s marriage 
Or a goblin’s burying ?” 

A. PUsHKIN. 


“And there was one herd of many swine feeding on the 
mountain; and they besought him that he would suffer them 
to enter into them. And he suffered them. 

“Then went the devils out of the man and entered into 
the swine ; and the herd ran violently down a steep place into 
the lake and were choked. 

“When they that fed them saw what was done, they fled, 
and went and told it in the city and in the country. 

“Then they went out to see what was done; and came to 
Jesus and found the man, out of whom the devils were 
departed, sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right 
mind; and they were afraid.” 

Luke, ch. viii. 32-37. 


( re ees ’ 
ts iP ; "he 
phd xy doce a 


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wa Biow 





CONTENTS 
PART I 


. INTRODUCTORY 

. Prince Harry. MATCHMAKING 
. THe SINS OF OTHERS 

. THE CRIPPLE 

. Tne SUBTLE SERPENT 


PART II 


, NIGHT 


NiGarT (continued) 


. THe Duet 


ALL IN EXPECTATION 


. On tHe Eve or THE FETE 

. Pyotr STEPANOVITCH IS Busy 

. A MEETING 

. IVAN THE TSAREVITCH 

. A Raip at STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S 


FILIBUSTERS A Fatat Morninc 


PART U1 


. Toe Frre-—First Parr 
. Toe END OF THE FETE 
. A RoMANCE ENDED 


THe Last RESOLUTION 
A WANDERER 
A Busy NIGHT 


. STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 


CONCLUSION 
Vii 


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PART I 


CHAPTER I 
INTRODUCTORY 


SOME DETAILS OF THE BIOGRAPHY OF THAT HIGHLY RESPECTED 
GENTLEMAN STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH VERHOVENSKY. 


I 


In undertaking to describe the recent and strange incidents in 
our town, till lately wrapped in uneventful obscurity, I find 
myself forced in absence of literary skill to begin my story 
rather far back, that is to say, with certain biographical details 
concerning that talented and highly-esteemed gentleman, 
Stepan Trofimovitch Verhovensky. I trust that these details 
may at least serve as an introduction, while my projected story 
itself will come later. 

I will say at once that Stepan Trofimovitch had always filled 
a particular rdle among us, that of the progressive patriot, so to 
say, and he was passionately fond of playing the part—so much 
so that I really believe he could not have existed without it. 
Not that I would put him on a level with an actor at a theatre, 
God forbid, for | really have arespect for him. This may all have 
been the effect of habit, or rather, more exactly of a generous 
propensity he had from his earliest years for indulging in an 
agreeable day-dream in which he figured as a picturesque public 
character. He fondly loved, for instance, his position as a “‘ per- 
secuted’’ man and, so to speak, an “exile.” There is a sort of 
traditional glamour about those two little words that fascinated 
him once for all and, exalting him gradually in his own 
opinion, raised him in the course of years to a lofty pedestal very 
gratifying to vanity. In an English satire of the last century, 
one Gulliver, returning from the land of the Lilliputians where 
the people were only three or four inches high, had grown so 
accustomed to consider himself a giant among them, that as he 
walked along the streets of London he could not help crying out 
to carriages and passers-by to be careful and get out of his 
way for fear he should crush them, imagining that they were little 

l A 


* 


2 THE POSSESSED 


and he was still a giant. He was laughed at and abused for 
it, and rough coachmen even lashed at the giant with their 
whips. But was that just ? What may not be done by habit ? 
Habit had brought Stepan Trofimovitch almost to the same 
position, but in a more innocent and inoffensive form, if one 
may use such expressions, for he was a most excellent man. 

I am even inclined to suppose that towards the end he had been 
entirely forgotten everywhere ; but still it cannot be said that his 
name had never been known. It is beyond question that he 
had at one time belonged to a certain distinguished constella- 
tion of celebrated leaders of the last generation, and at one 
time—though only for the briefest moment—his name was 
pronounced by many hasty persons of that day almost as though 
it were on a level with the names of Tchaadaev, of Byelinsky, 
of Granovsky, and of Herzen, who had only just begun to write 
abroad. But Stepan Trofimovitch’s activity ceased almost 
at the moment it began, owing, so to say, to a “ vortex of com- 
bined circumstances.’ And would you believe it? It turned 
out afterwards that there had been no “ vortex’’ and even no 
“ cireumstances,’’ at least in that connection. I only learned 
the other day to my intense amazement, though on the most 
unimpeachable authority, that Stepan Trofimovitch had lived 
among us in our province not as an “ exile”’ as we were accus- 
tomed to believe, and had never even been under police super- 
vision at all. Such is the force of imagination! All his life 
he sincerely believed that in certain spheres he was a constant 
cause of apprehension, that every step he took was watched and 
noted, and that each one of the three governors who succeeded 
one another during twenty years in our province came with 
special and uneasy ideas concerning him, which had, by higher 
powers, been impressed upon each before everything else, on 
receiving the appointment. Had anyone assured the honest 
man on the most irrefutable grounds that he had nothing 
to be afraid of, he would certainly have been offended. Yet 
Stepan Trofimovitch was a most intelligent and gifted man, even, 
so to say, a man of science, though indeed, in science . . . well, 
in fact he had not done such great things in science. I believe 
indeed he had done nothing at all. But that’s very often the 
case, of course, with men of science among us in Russia. 

He came back from abroad and was brilliant in the capacity 
of lecturer at the university, towards the end of the forties. 
He only had time to deliver a few lectures, I believe they were 


INTRODUCTORY 3 


about the Arabs; he maintained, too, a brilliant thesis on the 
political and Hanseatic importance of the German town Hanau, 
of which there was promise in the epoch between 1413 and 
1428, and on the special and obscure reasons why that promise 
was never fulfilled..This dissertation was a cruel and _ skilful 
thrust at the Slavophils of the day, and at once made him numer- 
ous and irreconcilable enemies among them. Later on—after he 
had lost his post as lecturer, however—he published (by way of 
revenge, so to say, and to show them what a man they had lost) 
in a progressive monthly review, which translated Dickens and 
advocated the views of George Sand, the beginning of a very 
profound investigation into the causes, I believe, of the extra- 
ordinary moral nobility of certain knights at a certain epoch or 
something of that nature. 

Some lofty and exceptionally noble idea was maintained in it, 
anyway. It was said afterwards that the continuation was 
hurriedly forbidden and even that the progressive review had to 
suffer for having ‘printed the first part. That may very well 
have been so, for what was not possible in those days ? Though, 
in this case, it is more likely that there was nothing of the kind, 
and that the author himself was too lazy to conclude his essay. 
He cut short his lectures on the Arabs because, somehow and 
by some one (probably one of his reactionary enemies) a letter 
had been seized giving an account of certain circumstances, 
in consequence of which some one had demanded an explanation 
from him. I don’t know whether the story is true, but it was 
asserted that at the same time there was discovered in Petersburg 
a vast, unnatural, and illegal conspiracy of thirty people which 
almost shook society to its foundations. It was said that they 
were positively on the point of translating Fourier. As though 
of design a poem of Stepan Trofimovitch’s was seized in Moscow 
at that very time, though it had been written six years before 
in Berlin in his earliest youth, and manuscript copies had been 
passed round a circle consisting of two poetical amateurs and one 
student. This poem is lying now on my table. No longer ago 
than last year I received a recent copy in his own handwriting 
from Stepan Trofimovitch himself, signed by him, and bound 
in a splendid red leather binding. It is not without poetic 
merit, however, and even a certain talent. It’s strange, but in 
those days (or to be more exact, in the thirties) people were con- 
stantly composing in that style. I find it difficult to describe the 
subject, for I really do not understand it. It is some sort of an 


4 THE POSSESSED 


allegory in lyrical-dramatic form, recalling the second part of 
Faust. The scene opens with a chorus of women, followed by a 
chorus of men, then a chorus of incorporeal powers of some sort, 
and at the end of all a chorus of spirits not yet living but very 
eager to come to life. All these choruses sing about something 
very indefinite, for the most part about somebody’s curse, but 
with a tinge of the higher humour. But the scene is suddenly 
changed. There begins a sort of “festival of life” at which 
even insects sing, a tortoise comes on the scene with certain 
sacramental Latin words, and even, if I remember aright, a 
mineral sings about something that is a quite inanimate object. 
In fact, they all sing continually, or if they converse, it is simply 
to abuse one another vaguely, but again with a tinge of higher 
meaning. At last the scene is changed again; a wilderness 
appears, and among the rocks there wanders a civilized young 
man who picks and sucks certain herbs. Asked by a fairy why 
he sucks these herbs, he answers that, conscious of a superfluity 
of life in himself, he seeks forgetfulness, and finds it in the juice 
of these herbs, but that his great desire is to lose his reason at 
once (a desire possibly superfluous). Then a youth of inde- 
scribable beauty rides in on a black steed, and an immense multi- 
tude of all nations follow him. The youth represents death, 
for whom all the peoples are yearning. And finally, in the last 
scene we are suddenly shown the Tower of Babel, and certain 
athletes at last finish building it with a song of new hope, and 
when at length they complete the topmost pinnacle, the lord (of 
Olympia, let us say) takes flight in a comic fashion, and man, 
grasping the situation and seizing his place, at once begins a new 
life with new insight into things. Well, this poem was thought 
at that time to be dangerous. Last year I proposed to Stepan 
Trofimovitch to publish it, on the ground of its perfect harm- 
lessness nowadays, but he declined the suggestion with evident 
dissatisfaction. My view of its complete harmlessness evidently 
displeased him, and I even ascribe to it a certain coldness on his 
part, which lasted two whole months. 

And what do you think? Suddenly, almost at the time I 
proposed printing it here, our poem was published abroad in a 
collection of revolutionary verse, without the knowledge of 
Stepan Trofimovitch. He was at first alarmed, rushed to the 
governor, and wrote a noble letter in self-defence to Petersburg. 
He read it to me twice, but did not send it, not knowing to 
whom to address it. In fact he was in a state of agitation for 


INTRODUCTORY 5 


a whole month, but I am convinced that in the secret recesses 
of his heart he was enormously flattered. He almost took the 
copy of the collection to bed with him, and kept it hidden under 
his mattress in the daytime; he positively would not allow the 
women to turn his bed, and although he expected every day 
a telegram, he held his head high. No telegram came. Then 
he made friends with me again, which is a proof of the extreme 
kindness of his gentle and unresentful heart. 


II 


Of course I don’t assert that he had never suffered for his con- 
-victions at all, but I am fully convinced that he might have 
gone on lecturing on his Arabs as long as he liked, if he had 
only given the necessary explanations. But he was too lofty, 
and he proceeded with peculiar haste to assure himself that 
his career was ruined for ever “ by the vortex of circumstance.”’ 
And if the whole truth is to be told the real cause of the change 
in his career was the very delicate proposition which had been 
made before and was then renewed by Varvara Petrovna 
Stavrogin, a lady of great wealth, the wife of a lieutenant-general, 
that he should undertake the education and the whole intel- 
lectual development of her only son in the capacity of a superior 
sort of teacher and friend, to say nothing of a magnificent salary. 
This proposal had been made to him the first time in Berlin, 
at the moment when he was first left a widower. His first wife 
was a frivolous girl from our province, whom he married in his 
early and unthinking youth, and apparently he had had a great 
deal of trouble with this young person, charming as she was, owing 
to the lack of means for her support ; and also from other, more 
delicate, reasons. She died in Paris after three years’ separation 
from him, leaving him a son of five years old; “the fruit of our 
first, joyous, and unclouded love,’”’ were the words the sorrowing 
father once let fall in my presence. 

The child had, from the first, been sent back to Russia, where 
he was brought up in the charge of distant cousins in some 
remote region. Stepan Trofimovitch had declined Varvara 
Petrovna’s proposal on that occasion and had quickly married 
again, before the year was over, a taciturn Berlin girl, and, what 
makes it more strange, there was no particular necessity for him 


6 THE POSSESSED 


to do so. But apart from his marriage there were, it appears, 
other reasons for his declining the situation. He was tempted 
by the resounding fame of a professor, celebrated at that time, 
and he, in his turn, hastened to the lecturer’s chair for which he had 
been preparing himself, to try his eagle wings in flight. But now 
with singed wings he naturally remembered the proposition 
which even then had made him hesitate. The sudden death of his 
second wife, who did not live a year with him, settled the matter 
decisively. To put it plainly it was all brought about by the 
passionate sympathy and priceless, so to speak, classic friend- 
ship of Varvara Petrovna, if one may use such an expression 
of friendship. He flung himself into the arms of this friendship, 
and his position was settled for more than twenty years. I use 
the expression “ flung himself into the arms of,’’ but God forbid 
that anyone should fly to idle and superfluous conclusions. 
These embraces must be understood only in the most loftily 
moral sense. The most refined and delicate tie united these two 
beings, both so remarkable, for ever. 

The post of tutor was the more readily accepted too, as the 
property—a very small one—left to Stepan Trofimovitch by his 
first wife was close to Skvoreshniki, the Stavrogins’ magnificent 
estate on the outskirts of our provincial town. Besides, in the 
stillness of his study, far from the immense burden of university 
work, it was always possible to devote himself to the service of 
science, and to enrich the literature of his country with erudite 
studies. These works did not appear. But on the other hand 
it did appear possible to spend the rest of his life, more than 
twenty years, “‘ a reproach incarnate,” so to speak, to his native 
country, in the words of a popular poet : 


Reproach incarnate thou didst stand 
Erect before thy Fatherland, 
O Inberal rdealist / 


But the person to whom the popular poet referred may perhaps 
have had the right to adopt that pose for the rest of his life if 
he had wished to do so, though it must have been tedious. Our 
Stepan Trofimovitch was, to tell the truth; only an imitator 
compared with such people; moreover, he had grown weary of 
standing erect and often lay down for a while. But, to do him 
justice, the “incarnation of reproach ’”’ was preserved even in 
the recumbent attitude, the more so as that was quite sufficient 
for the province. You should have seen him at our club when 


INTRODUCTORY 7 


he sat down to cards. His whole figure seemed to exclaim 
“Cards! Me sit down to whist with you! Is it consistent ? 
Who is responsible for it? Who has shattered my energies 
and turned them to whist ? Ah, perish, Russia !’’ and he would 
majestically trump with a heart. 

And to tell the truth he dearly loved a game of cards, which led 
him, especially in later years, into frequent and unpleasant 
skirmishes with Varvara Petrovna, particularly as he was always 
losing. But of that later. I will only observe that he was a man 
of tender conscience (that is, sometimes) and so was often 
depressed. In the course of his twenty years’ friendship with 
Varvara Petrovna he used regularly, three or four times a year, 
to sink into a state of “‘ patriotic grief,” as it was called among us 
or rather really into an attack of spleen, but our estimable 
Varvara Petrovna preferred the former phrase. Of late years 
his grief had begun to be not only patriotic, but at times alcoholic 
too; but Varvara Petrovna’s alertness succeeded in keeping 
him all his life from trivial inclinations. And he needed some one 
to look after him indeed, for he sometimes behaved very oddly : 
in the midst of his exalted sorrow he would begin laughing like 
any simple peasant. There were moments when he began to 
take a humorous tone even about himself. But there was 
nothing Varvara Petrovna dreaded so much as a humorous 
tone. She was a woman of the classic type, a female Mecenas, 
nvariably guided only by the highest considerations. The 
influence of this exalted lady over her poor friend for twenty 
years is a fact of the first importance. I shall need to speak 
of her more particularly, which I now proceed to do. 


Iit 


There are strange friendships. The two friends are always 
ready to fly at one another, and go on like that all their lives, 
and yet they cannot separate. Parting, in fact, is utterly im- 
possible. The one who has begun the quarrel and separated 
will be the first to fall ill and even die, perhaps, if the separation 
comes off. I know for a positive fact that several times Stepan 
Trofimovitch has jumped up from the sofa and beaten the 
wall with his fists after the most intimate and emotional {é/e-da- 
téte with Varvara Petrovna. 


8 THE POSSESSED 


This proceeding was by no means an empty symbol; indeed, 
on one occasion, he broke some plaster off the wall. It may be 
asked how I come to know such delicate details. What if I 
were myself a witness of it? What if Stepan Trofimovitch himself 
has, on more than one occasion, sobbed on my shoulder while 
he described to me in lurid colours all his most secret feelings. 
(And what was there he did not say at such times!) But what 
almost always happened after these tearful outbreaks was that 
next day he was ready to crucify himself for his ingratitude. 
He would send for me in a hurry or run over to see me simply 
to assure me that Varvara Petrovna was “an angel of honour 
and delicacy, while he was very much the opposite.” He did 
not only run to confide in me, but, on more than one occasion, 
described it all to her in the most eloquent letter, and wrote a 
full signed confession that no longer ago than the day before 
he had told an outsider that she kept him out of vanity, that she 
was envious of his talents and erudition, that she hated him 
and was only afraid to express her hatred openly, dreading 
that he would leave her and so damage her literary reputation, 
that this drove him to self-contempt, and he was resolved to die 
a violent death, and that he was waiting for the final word from 
her which would decide everything, and so on and so on in the 
same style. You can fancy after this what an hysterical pitch 
the nervous outbreaks of this most innocent of all fifty-year-old 
infants sometimes reached! I once read one of these letters 
after some quarrel between them, arising from a trivial matter, 
but growing venomous as it went on. I was horrified and be- 
sought him not to send it. 

‘‘I must ... more honourable ...duty ...I1 shall die 
if I don’t confess everything, everything !’’ he answered almost 
in delirium, and he did send the letter. 

That was the difference between them, that Varvara Petrovna 
never would have sent such a letter. It is true that he was 
passionately fond of writing, he wrote to her though he lived 
in the same house, and during hysterical interludes he would 
write two letters a day. I know for a fact that she always read 
these letters with the greatest attention, even when she received 
two a day, and after reading them she put them away in a special 
drawer, sorted and annotated ; moreover, she pondered them in 
her heart. But she kept her friend all day without an answer, 
met him as though there were nothing the matter, exactly as 
though nothing special had happened the day before. By degrees 


INTRODUCTORY 9 


she broke him in so completely that at last he did not himself 
dare to allude to what had happened the day before, and only 
glanced into her eyes at times. But she never forgot anything, 
while he sometimes forgot too quickly, and encouraged by her 
composure he would not infrequently, if friends came in, laugh 
and make jokes over the champagne the very same day. 
With what malignancy she must have looked at him at such 
moments, while he noticed nothing! Perhaps in a week’s time, 
a month’s time, or even six months later, chancing to recall 
some phrase in such a letter, and then the whole letter with all 
its attendant circumstances, he would suddenly grow hot with 
shame, and be so upset that he fell ill with one of his attacks 
of “‘summer cholera.’’ These attacks of a sort of “‘ summer 
cholera ’’ were, in some cases, the regular consequence of his 
nervous agitations and were an interesting peculiarity of his 
physical constitution. 

No doubt Varvara Petrovna did very often hate him. But 
there was one thing he had not discerned up to the end: that 
was that he had become for her a son, her creation, even, one may 
say, her invention ; he had become flesh of her flesh, and she kept 
and supported him not simply from “envy of his talents.” 
And how wounded she must have been by such suppositions ! 
An inexhaustible love for him lay concealed in her heart in the 
midst of continual hatred, jealousy, and contempt. She would 
not let a speck of dust fall upon him, coddled him up for twenty- 
two years, would not have slept for nights together if there 
were the faintest breath against his reputation as a poet, a 
learned man, and a public character. She had invented him, and 
had been the first to believe in her own invention. He was, after 
a fashion, her day-dream. ... But in return she exacted a 
great deal from him, sometimes even slavishness. It was in- 
credible how long she harboured resentment. 1 have two 
anecdotes to tell about that. 


IV 


On one occasion, just at the time when the first rumours of the 
emancipation of the serfs were in the air, when all Russia was 
exulting and making ready for a complete regeneration, Varvara 
Petrovna was visited by a baron from Petersburg, a man of 
the highest connections, and very closely associated with the 


10 THE POSSESSED 


new reform. Varvara Petrovna prized such visits highly, as 
her connections in higher circles had grown weaker and weaker 
since the death of her husband, and had at last ceased altogether. 
The baron spent an hour drinking tea with her. There was no 
one else present but Stepan Trofimovitch, whom Varvara 
Petrovna invited and exhibited. The baron had heard some- 
thing about him before or affected to have done so, but paid 
little attention to him at tea. Stepan Trofimovitch of course 
was incapable of making a social blunder, and his manners 
were most elegant. Though I believe he was by no means of 
exalted origin, yet it happened that he had from earliest child- 
hood been brought up in a Moscow household of high rank, and 
consequently was well bred. He spoke French like a Parisian. 
Thus the baron was to have seen from the first glance the sort 
of people with whom Varvara Petrovna surrounded herself, 
even in provincial seclusion. But things did not fall out like 
this. When the baron positively asserted the absolute truth 
of the rumours of the great reform, which were then only just 
beginning to be heard, Stepan Trofimovitch could not contain 
himself, and suddenly shouted “‘ Hurrah !’’ and even made some 
gesticulation indicative of delight. His ejaculation was not 
over-loud and quite polite, his delight was even perhaps pre- 
meditated, and his gesture purposely studied before the looking- 
glass half an hour before tea. But something must have been 
amiss with it, for the baron permitted himself a faint smile, 
though he, at once, with extraordinary courtesy, put in a phrase 
concerning the universal and befitting emotion of all Russian 
hearts in view of the great event. Shortly afterwards he took 
his leave and at parting did not forget to hold out two fingers 
to Stepan Trofimovitch. On returning to the drawing-room 
Varvara Petrovna was at first silent for two or three minutes, 
and seemed to be looking for something on the table. Then she 
turned to Stepan Trofimovitch, and with pale face and flashing 
eyes she hissed in a whisper : 

‘“‘ T shall never forgive you for that !”’ 

Next day she met her friend as though nothing had happened, 
she never referred to the incident, but thirteen years afterwards, 
at a tragic moment, she recalled it and reproached him with it, 
and she turned pale, just as she had done thirteen years before. 
Only twice in the course of her life did she say to him : 

‘ T shall never forgive you for that ! ” 

The incident with the baron was the second time, but the first 


INTRODUCTORY Il 


incident was:'so characteristic and had so much influence on the 
fate of Stepan Trofimovitch that I venture to refer to that too. 
It was in 1855, in spring-time, in May, just after the news 
had reached Skvoreshniki of the death of Lieutenant-General 
Stavrogin, a frivolous old gentleman who died of a stomach 
ailment on the way to the Crimea, where he was hastening to 
join the army on active service. Varvara Petrovna was left a 
widow and put on deep mourning. She could not, it is true, 
deplore his death very deeply, since, for the last four years, she 
had been completely separated from him owing to incompatibility 
of temper, and was giving him an allowance. (The Lieutenant- 
General himself had nothing but one hundred and fifty serfs and 
his pay, besides his position and hisconnections. Allthe money 
and Skvoreshniki belonged to Varvara Petrovna, the only 
daughter of a very rich contractor.) Yet she was shocked by 
the suddenness of the news, and retired into complete solitude. 
Stepan Trofimovitch, of course, was always at her side. 

May was in its full beauty. The evenings were exquisite. 
The wild cherry was in flower. The two friends walked every 
evening in the garden and used to sit till nightfall in the arbour, 
and pour out their thoughts and feelings to one another. They 
had poetic moments. Under the influence of the change in her 
position Varvara Petrovna talked more than usual. She, as 
it were, clung to the heart of her friend, and this continued 
for several evenings. A strange idea suddenly came over Stepan 
Trofimovitch: ‘‘Was not the inconsolable widow reckoning 
upon him, and expecting from him, when her mourning was over, 
the offer of his hand ?”’ A cynical idea, but the very loftiness 
of a man’s nature sometimes increases a disposition to cynical 
ideas if only from the many-sidedness of his culture. He began 
to look more deeply into it, and thought it seemed like it. He 
pondered: ‘“‘ Her fortune is immense, of course, but...” 
Varvara Petrovna certainly could not be called a beauty. She 
was a tall, yellow, bony woman with an extremely long face, 
suggestive of a horse. Stepan Trofimovitch hesitated more and 
more, he was tortured by doubts, he positively shed tears of 
indecision once or twice (he wept not infrequently). In the 
evenings, that is to say in the arbour, his countenance involun- 
tarily began to express something capricious and _ ironical, 
something coquettish and at the same time condescending. This 
is apt to happen as it were by accident, and the more gentle- 
manly the man the more noticeable it is. Goodness only knows 


12 THE POSSESSED 


what one is to think about it, but it’s most likely that nothing had 
begun working in her heart that could have fully justified Stepan 
Trofimovitch’s suspicions. Moreover, she would not have 
changed her name, Stavrogin, for his name, famous as it was. 
Perhaps there was nothing in it but the play of femininity on her 
side ; the manifestation of an unconscious feminine yearning 
so natural in some extremely feminine types. However, I 
won't answer for it; the depths of the female heart have not 
been explored to this day. But I must continue. 

It is to be supposed that she soon inwardly guessed the 
significance of her friend’s strange expression; she was quick 
and observant, and he was sometimes extremely guileless. But 
the evenings went on as before, and their conversations were 
just as poetic and interesting. And behold on one occasion at 
nightfall, after the most lively and poetical conversation, they 
parted affectionately, warmly pressing each other’s hands at 
the steps of the lodge where Stepan Trofimovitch slept. Every 
summer he used to move into this little lodge which stood 
adjoining the huge seignorial house of Skvoreshniki, almost 
in the garden. He had only just gone in, and in restless hesi- 
tation taken a cigar, and not having yet lighted it, was standing 
weary and motionless before the open window, gazing at the light 
feathery white clouds gliding around the bright moon, when 
suddenly a faint rustle made him start and turn round. Varvara 
Petrovna, whom he had left only four minutes earlier, was 
standing before him again. Her yellow face was almost blue. 
Her lips were pressed tightly together and twitching at 
the corners. For ten full seconds she looked him in the eyes 
in silence with a firm relentless gaze, and suddenly whispered 
rapidly : 

‘‘ T shall never forgive you for this ! ”’ 

When, ten years later, Stepan Trofimovitch, after closing the 
doors, told me this melancholy tale in a whisper, he vowed that 
he had been so petrified on the spot that he had not seen or heard 
how Varvara Petrovna had disappeared. As she never once 
afterwards alluded to the incident and everything went on as 
though nothing had happened, he was all his life inclined to the 
idea that it was all an hallucination, a symptom of illness, the 
more so as he was actually taken ill that very night and was 
indisposed for a fortnight, which, by the way, cut short the 
interviews in the arbour. 7 

But in spite of his vague theory of hallucination he seemed 


INTRODUCTORY 13 


every day, all his life, to be expecting the continuation, and, so to 
say, the denouement of this affair. He could not believe that 
that was the end of it! And if so he must have looked strangely 
sometimes at his friend. 


Vv 


She had herself designed the costume for him which he wore for 
the rest of his life. It was elegant and characteristic ; a long 
black frock-coat, buttoned almost to the top, but stylishly cut ; 
a soft hat (in summer a straw hat) with a wide brim, a white 
batiste cravat with a full bow and hanging ends, a cane with a 
silver knob; his hair flowed on to his shoulders. It was dark 
brown, and only lately had begun to get a little grey. He was 
clean-shaven. He was said to have been very handsome in his 
youth. And, tomy mind, he was still an exceptionally impressive 
figure even in old age. Besides, who can talk of old age at 
fifty-three ? From his special pose as a patriot, however, he did 
not try to appear younger, but seemed rather'to pride himself on 
the solidity of his age, and, dressed as described, tall and thin 
with flowing hair, he looked almost like a patriarch, or even more 
like the portrait of the poet Kukolnik, engraved in the edition 
of his works published in 1830 or thereabouts. This resemblance 
was especially striking when he sat in the garden in summer- 
time, on a seat under a bush of flowering lilac, with both hands 
propped on his cane and an open book beside him, musing 
poetically over the setting sun. In regard to books I may 
remark that he came in later years rather to avoid reading. But 
that was only quite towards the end. The papers and magazines 
ordered in great profusion by Varvara Petrovna he was continu- 
ally reading. He never lost interest in the successes of Russian 
literature either, though he always maintained a dignified attitude 
with regard to them. He was at one time engrossed in the study 
of our home and foreign politics, but he soon gave up the under- 
taking with a gesture of despair. It sometimes happened that 
he would take De Tocqueville with him into the garden while 
he had a Paul de Kock in his pocket. But these are trivial 
matters. 

I must observe in parenthesis about the portrait of Kukolnik ; 
the engraving had first come into the hands of Varvara Petrovna 


14 THE POSSESSED 


when she was a girl in a high-class boarding-school in Moscow. 
She fell in love with the portrait at once, after the habit of all girls 
at school who fall in love with anything they come across, as well 
as with their teachers, especially the drawing and writing masters. 
What is interesting in this, though, is not the characteristics 
of girls but the fact that even at fifty Varvara Petrovna kept 
the engraving among her most intimate and treasured possessions, 
so that perhaps it was only on this account that she had designed 
for Stepan Trofimovitch a costume somewhat like the poet’s in 
the engraving. But that, of course, is a trifling matter too. 

For the first years or, more accurately, for the first half of 
the time he spent with Varvara Petrovna, Stepan Trofimovitch 
was still planning a book and every day seriously prepared to 
write it. But during the later period he must have forgotten 
even what he had done. More and more frequently he used 
to say to us: 

‘I seem to be ready for work, my materials are collected, yet 
the work doesn’t get done! Nothingisdone!” . 

And he would bow his head dejectedly. No doubt this was 
calculated to increase his prestige in our eyes as a martyr to 
science, but he himself was longing for something else. ‘“They 
have forgotten me! I’m no use to anyone!” broke from him 
more than once. This intensified depression took special hold 
_of him towards the end of the fifties. Varvara Petrovna realised 
at last that it was a serious matter. Besides, she could not 
endure the idea that her friend was forgotten and useless. To 
distract him and at the same time to renew his fame she carried 
him off to Moscow, where she had fashionable acquaintances in 
the literary and scientific world ; but it appeared that Moscow 
too was unsatisfactory. 

It was a peculiar time ; something new was beginning, quite 
unlike the stagnation of the past, something very strange too, 
though it was felt everywhere, even at Skvoreshniki. Rumours 
of all sorts reached us. ‘The facts were generally more or less 
well known, but it was evident that in addition to the facts there 
were certain ideas accompanying them, and what’s more, a great 
number of them. And this was perplexing. It was impossible 
to estimate and find out exactly what was the drift of these 
ideas. Varvara Petrovna was prompted by the feminine compo- 
sition of her character to a compelling desire to penetrate the 
secret of them. She took to reading newspapers and magazines, 
prohibited publications printed abroad and even the revolutionary 


INTRODUCTORY 15 


manifestoes which were just beginning to appear at the time (she 
was able to procure them all); but this only set her head in a 
whirl. She fell to writing letters ; she got few answers, and they 
grew more incomprehensible as time went on. Stepan Tro- 
fimovitch was solemnly called upon to explain “‘ these ideas ”’ to 
her once for all, but she remained distinctly dissatisfied with his 
explanations. ; 

Stepan Trofimovitch’s view of the general movement was 
- supercilious in the extreme. In his eyes all it amounted to was 
that he was forgotten and of no use. At last his name was 
mentioned, at first in periodicals published abroad as that of 
an exiled martyr, and immediately afterwards in Petersburg 
as that of a former star in a celebrated constellation. He was 
even for some reason compared with Radishtchev. Then some 
- one printed the statement that he was dead and promised an 
obituary notice of him. Stepan Trofimovitch instantly perked 
up and assumed an air of immense dignity. All his disdain for 
his contemporaries evaporated and he began to cherish the 
dream of joining the movement and showing his powers. 
Varvara Petrovna’s faith in everything instantly revived and she 
was thrown into a violent ferment. It was decided to go to 
Petersburg without a moment’s delay, to find out everything 
on the spot, to go into everything personally, and, if possible, 
to throw themselves heart and soul into the new movement. 
Among other things she announced that she was prepared to 
found a magazine of her own, and henceforward to devote her 
whole life to it. Seeing what it had come to, Stepan Trofimovitch 
became more condescending than ever, and on the journey began 
to behave almost patronisingly to Varvara Petrovna—which she 
at once laid up in her heart against him. She had, however, 
another very important reason for the trip, which was to renew 
her connections in higher spheres. It was necessary, as far as she 
could, to remind the world of her existence, or at any rate to 
make an attempt to doso. The ostensible object of the journey 
was to see her only son, who was just finishing his studies at a 
Petersburg lyceum. 


VI 


They spent almost the whole winter seasonin Petersburg. But 
by Lent everything burst like a rainbow-coloured soap-bubble. 


16 THE POSSESSED 


Their dreams were dissipated, and the muddle, far from being 
cleared up, had become even more revoltingly incomprehensible. 
To begin with, connections with the higher spheres were not 
established, or only on a microscopic scale, and by humiliating 
exertions. In her mortification Varvara Petrovna threw herself 
heart and soul into the “ new ideas,’”’ and began giving evening 
receptions. She invited literary people, and they were brought 
to her at once in multitudes. Afterwards they came of them- 
selves without invitation, one brought another. Never had she 
seen such literary men. They were incredibly vain, but quite 
open in their vanity, as though they were performing a duty 
by the display of it. Some (but by no means all) of them even 
turned up intoxicated, seeming, however, to detect in this a 
peculiar, only recently discovered, merit. They were all strangely 
proud of something. On every face was written that they had 
only just discovered some extremely important secret. They 
abused one another, and took credit to themselves for it. It was 
rather difficult to find out what they had written exactly, but 
among them there were critics, novelists, dramatists, satirists, 
and exposers of abuses. Stepan Trofimovitch penetrated into 
their very highest circle from which the movement was directed. 
Incredible heights had to be scaled to reach this group ; but they 
gave him a cordial welcome, though, of course, no one of them 
had ever heard of him or knew anything about him except 
that he “represented an idea.’? His manceuvres among them 
were so successful that he got them twice to Varvara Petrovna’s 
salon in spite of their Olympian grandeur. These people were 
very serious and very polite; they behaved nicely ; the others 
were evidently afraid of them ; but'it was obvious that they had 
no time to spare. ‘Two or three former literary celebrities who 
happened to be in Petersburg, and with whom Varvara Petrovna 
had long maintained a most refined correspondence, came also. 
But to her surprise these genuine and quite indubitable celebrities 
were stiller than water, humbler than the grass, and some of 
them simply hung on to this new rabble, and were shamefully 
cringing before them. At first Stepan Trofimovitch was a 
success. People caught at him and began to exhibit him at 
public literary gatherings. The first time he came on to the plat- 
form at some public reading in which he was to take part, he was 
received with enthusiastic clapping which lasted for five minutes. 
He recalled this with tears nine years afterwards, though rather 
from his natural artistic sensibility than from gratitude. “I 


INTRODUCTORY 17 


swear, and I’m ready to bet,’’ he declared (but only to me, and 
in secret), “ that not one of that audience knew anything what- 
ever about me.’ A noteworthy admission. He must have 
had a keen intelligence since he was capable of grasping his 
position so clearly even on the platform, even in such a state of 
exaltation ; it also follows that he had not a keen intelligence if, 
nine years afterwards, he could not recall it without mortification. 
He was made to sign two or three collective protests (against 
what he did not know); he signed them. Varvara Petrovna too 
was made to protest against some “ disgraceful action” and 
she signed too. The majority of these new people, however, 
though they visited Varvara Petrovna, felt themselves for some 
reason called upon to regard her with contempt, and with undis- 
guised irony. Stepan Trofimovitch hinted to me at bitter 
moments afterwards that it was from that time she had been 
envious of him. She saw, of course, that she could not get on 
with these people, yet she received them eagerly, with all the 
hysterical impatience of her sex, and, what is more, she expected 
something. At her parties she talked little, although she could 
talk, but she listened the more. They talked of the abolition 
of the censorship, and of phonetic spelling, of the substitution of 
the Latin characters for the Russian alphabet, of some one’s 
having been sent into exile the day before, of some scandal, 
of the advantage of splitting Russia into nationalities united in 
a free federation, of the abolition of the army and the navy, 
of the restoration of Poland as far as the Dnieper, of the peasant 
reforms, and of the manifestoes, of the abolition of the heredi- 
tary principle, of the family, of children, and of priests, of women’s 
rights, of Kraevsky’s house, for which no one ever seemed able 
to forgive Mr. Kraevsky, and so on, and so on. It was evident 
that in this mob of new people there were many impostors, but un- 
doubtedly there were also many honest and very attractive people, 
in spite of some surprising characteristics in them. The honest 
ones were far more difficult to understand than the coarse and 
dishonest, but it was impossible to tell which was being made 
a tool of by the other. When Varvara Petrovna announced her 
_ idea of founding a magazine, people flocked to her in even larger 
numbers, but charges of being a capitalist and an exploiter 
of labour were showered upon her to her face. The rudeness 
of these accusations was only equalled by their unexpectedness. 
The aged General Ivan Ivanovitch Drozdov, an old friend and 
comrade of the late General Stavrogin’s, known to us all here as 
R 


18 THE POSSESSED 


an extremely stubborn and irritable, though very estimable, man 
(in his own way, of course), who ate a great deal, and was dread- 
fully afraid of atheism, quarrelled at one of Varvara Petrovna’s 
parties with a distinguished young man. The latter at the first 
word exclaimed, ‘“‘ You must be a general if you talk like that,”’ 
meaning that he could find no word of abuse worse than 
“* general.’ 

Ivan Ivanovitch flew into a terrible passion: ‘‘ Yes, sir, I am 
a general, and a lieutenant-general, and | have served my Tsar, 
and you, sir, are a puppy and an infidel !”’ 

An outrageous scene followed. Next day the incident was 
exposed in print, and they began getting up a collective protest 
against Varvara Petrovna’s disgraceful conduct in not having 
immediately turned the general out. In an illustrated paper 
there appeared a malignant caricature in which Varvara Petrovna, 
Stepan Trofimovitch, and General Drozdov were depicted as 
three reactionary friends. There were verses attached to this 
caricature written by a popular poet especially for the occasion. 
I may observe, for my own part, that many persons of general’s 
rank certainly have an absurd habit of saying, “‘ I have served 
my Tsar”... just as though they had not the same. Tsar as 
all the rest of us, their simple fellow-subjects, but had a special 
Tsar of their own. 

It was impossible, of course, to remain any longer in Petersburg, 
all the more so as Stepan Trofimovitch was overtaken by a 
complete fiasco. He could not resist talking of the claims of art, 
and they laughed at him more loudly as time went on. At his 
last lecture he thought to impress them with patriotic eloquence, 
hoping to touch their hearts, and reckoning on the respect 
inspired by his “ persecution.’ He did not attempt to dispute 
the uselessness and absurdity of the word “‘ fatherland,’’ acknow- 
ledged the pernicious influence of religion, but firmly and loudly 
declared that boots were of less consequence than Pushkin ; of 
much less, indeed. He was hissed so mercilessly that he burst 
into tears, there and then, on the platform. Varvara Petrovna 
took him home more dead than alive. “On m’a traité comme 
un vieux bonnet de coton,’’ he babbled senselessly. She was 
looking after him all night, giving him laurel-drops and repeating 
to him till daybreak, ‘‘ You will still be of use ; you will still 
make your mark; you will be appreciated . .. in another 
place.” P 

Early next morning five literary men called on Varvara 


INTRODUCTORY 19 


Petrovna, three of them complete strangers, whom she had 
never set eyes on before. With a stern air they informed her 
that they had looked into the question of her magazine, and had 
brought her their decision on the subject. Varvara Petrovna 
had never authorised anyone to look into or decide anything 
concerning her magazine. Their decision was that, having 
founded the magazine, she should at once hand it over to them 
with the capital to run it, on the basis of a co-operative society. 
She herself was to go back to Skvoreshniki, not forgetting to take 
with her Stepan Trofimovitch, who was “‘out of date.”? From 
delicacy they agreed to recognise the right of property in her 
case, and to send her every year a sixth part of the net profits. 
What was most touching about it was that of these five men, 
four certainly were not actuated by any mercenary motive, and 
were simply acting in the interests of the “‘ cause.” 

*“ We came away utterly at a loss,’’ Stepan Trofimovitch used 
to say aiterwards. “I couldn’t make head or tail of it, and kept 
muttering, | remember, to the rumble of the train : 


“Vyek, and vyek, and Lyov Kambek, 
Lyov Kambek and vyek, and vyek.’ 


and goodness knows what, all the way to Moscow. It was only 
in Moscow that I came to myself—as though we really might 
find something different there.’’ ‘‘ Oh, my friends!’’ he would 
exclaim to us sometimes with fervour, “‘ you cannot imagine what 
wrath and sadness overcome your whole soul when a great idea, 
which you have long cherished as holy, is caught up by the ignorant 
and dragged forth before fools like themselves into the street, 
and you suddenly meet it in the market unrecognisable, in the 
mud, absurdly set up, without proportion, without harmony, the 
plaything of foolish louts! No! In our day it was not so, and it 
was not this for which we strove. No, no, not this at all. I 
don’t recognise it. ... . Our day will come again and will turn 
all the tottering fabric of to-day into a true path. If not, what 
wilhappen?.. .” | 


Vil 


Immediately on their return from Petersburg Varvara Petrovna 
sent her friend abroad to “‘ recruit’”’ ;. and, indeed, it was neces- 
sary for them to part for a time, she felt that. Stepan Trofimovitch 
was delighted to go. 


20 THE POSSESSED 


‘‘There I shall revive!’ he exclaimed. ‘‘ There, at last, I 
shall set to work!’’ But in the first of his letters from Berlin 
he struck his usual note : 

‘“‘ My heart is broken !’’ he wrote to Varvara Petrovna. “‘ I can 
forget nothing! Here, in Berlin, everything brings back to me 
my old past, my first raptures and my first agonies. Where 
is she ? Where are they both? Where are you two angels of 
whom I was never worthy ? Where is my son, my beloved son ? 
And last of all, where am I, where is my old self, strong as steel, 
firm as a rock, when now some Andreev, our orthodox clown with 
a beard, peut briser mon existence en deux ’’—and so on. 

As for Stepan Trofimovitch’s son, he had only seen him twice 
in his life, the first time when he was born and the second time 
lately in Petersburg, where the young man was preparing to enter 
the university. The boy had been ail his life, as we have said 
already, brought up by his aunts (at Varvara Petrovna’s expense) 
in a remote province, nearly six hundred miles from Skvoreshniki. 
As for Andreev, he was nothing more or less than our local shop- 
keeper, a very eccentric fellow, a self-taught archeologist who 
had a passion for collecting Russian antiquities and sometimes 
tried to outshine Stepan Trofimovitch in erudition and in the 
progressiveness of his opinions. This worthy shopkeeper, with 
a grey beard and silver-rimmed spectacles, still owed Stepan 
Trofimovitch four hundred roubles for some acres of timber he 
had bought on the Jatter’s little estate (near Skvoreshniki). 
Though Varvara Petrovna had liberally provided her friend with 
funds when she sent him to Berlin, yet Stepan Trofimovitch 
had, before starting, particularly reckoned on getting that four 
hundred roubles, probably for his secret expenditure, and was 
ready to cry when Andreev asked leave to defer payment for a 
month, which he had a right to do, since he had brought the first 
instalments of the money almost six months in advance to 
meet Stepan Trofimovitch’s special need at the time. 

Varvara Petrovna read this first letter greedily, and underlining 
in pencil the exclamation: “‘ Where are they both ?’”’ numbered 
it and put it away ina drawer. He had, of course, referred to his 
two deceased wives. The second letter she received from Berlin 
was in a different strain : 

‘Tam working twelve hours out of the twenty-four.” (‘‘ Eleven 
would be enough,’’ muttered Varvara Petrovna.) “I’m rummaging 
in the libraries, collating, copying, rushing about. Ive visited’ 
the professors. I have renewed my acquaintance with the 


INTRODUCTORY , oT 


delightful Dundasov family. What a charming creature 
Nadyozhda Nikolaevna is even now! She sends you her 
greetings. Her young husband and three nephews are all in 
Berlin. I sit up talking till daybreak with the young people and 
we have almost Athenian evenings, Athenian, I mean, only in 
their intellectual subtlety and refinement. Everything is in 
noble style; a great deal of music, Spanish airs, dreams of the 
regeneration of all humanity, ideas of eternal beauty, of the 
Sistine Madonna, light interspersed with darkness, but there 
are spots even on the sun! Oh, my friend, my noble, faithful 
friend! In heart I am with you and am yours; with you 
alone, always, en tout pays, even in le pays de Makar et de ses 
veaux, of which we often used to talk in agitation in Petersburg, 
_do you remember, before we came away. I think of it with 
asmile. Crossing the frontier | felt myself in safety, a sensation, 
strange and new, for the first time after so many years’’—and so 
on and so on. 

““Come, it’s all nonsense!’’ Varvara Petrovna commented, 
folding up that letter too. ‘If he’s up till daybreak with his 
Athenian nights, he isn’t at his books for twelve hours a day. 
Was he drunk when he wrote it ? That Dundasov woman dares 
to send me greetings! But there, let him amuse himself!” 

The phrase “‘ dans le pays de Makar et de ses veaux’’ meant : 
“wherever Makar may drive his calves.” Stepan Trofimovitch 
sometimes purposely translated Russian proverbs and _ tra- 
ditional sayings into French in the most stupid way, though no 
doubt he was able to understand and translate them better. But 
he did it from a feeling that it was chic, and thought it witty. 

But he did not amuse himself for long. He could not hold out 
for four months, and was soon flying back to Skvoreshniki. His 
last letters consisted of nothing but outpourings of the most 
sentimental love for his absent friend, and were literally wet 
with tears. There are natures extremely attached to home like 
lap-dogs. The meeting of the friends was enthusiastic. Within 
_ two days everything was as before and even duller than before. 
_ “My friend,’ Stepan Trofimovitch said to me a fortnight after, 
in dead secret, “‘ I have discovered something awful forme... 
something new: je suis un simple dependent, et rien de plus ! 
Mais r-r-rien de plus /”? 


22 THE POSSESSED 


VIL 


After this we had a period of stagnation which lasted 
nine years. The hysterical outbreaks and sobbings on my 
shoulder that. recurred at regular intervals did not in the least 
mar our prosperity. I wonder that Stepan Trofimovitch did 
not grow stout during this period. » His nose was a little redder, 
and his manner had gained in urbanity, that was all. By degrees 
a circle of friends had formed around him, although it was never 
a very large one. Though Varvara Petrovna had little to do 
with the circle, yet. we all recognised her as our patroness. After 
the lesson she had received in Petersburg, she settled down in our 
town for good. In winter she lived in her town house and spent 
the summer on her estate in the neighbourhood. She had never 
enjoyed so much consequence and prestige in our provincial 
society as during the last seven years of this period, that’is up to 
the time of the appointment of our present governor. Our 
former governor, the mild Ivan Ossipovitch, who will never be 
forgotten among us, was a near relation of Varvara Petrovna’s, . 
and had atone time: been under obligations to her. His wife 
trembled at the very thought of displeasing her, while the homage 
paid her by provincial society was carried almost to a pitch 
that suggested idolatry. SoStepan Trofimovitch, too, had a good 
time. He was a member of the club, lost at cards majestically, 
and was everywhere treated with respect, though many people 
regarded him only as a “learned man.’ Later on, when 
Varvara Petrovna allowed him to live in a separate house, we 
enjoyed, greater freedom than before. Twice a week we used to 
meet at his house. We were a merry party, especially when he 
was not sparing of the champagne. The wine came from the 
shop of the same Andreev. The bill was paid twice a year by 
Varvara Petrovna, and on the day it was paid Stepan. Trofimo- 
vitch almost invariably suffered from an attack of his “‘ summer 
cholera,” | 

One of the first members of our circle was Liputin, an elderly 
provincial official, and a great liberal, who was reputed in the 
town to be.an atheist.. He had married for the second time a 
young and pretty wife with a dowry, and had, besides, three 
grown-up daughters. He brought up his family in the fear of 
God, and kept a tight hand overthem. He was extremely stingy, ~ 
and out of his salary had bought himself a house and amassed a 


INTRODUCTORY 23 


fortune. He was an uncomfortable sort of man, and had not 
risen in the service. He was not much respected in the town, 
and was not received in the best circles. Moreover, he was an 
open scandal-monger, and had more than once had to smart for 
his back-biting, for which he had been badly punished by an 
officer, and again by a country gentleman, the respectable head of 
afamily. But we liked his wit, his inquiring mind, his peculiar, 
malicious liveliness. Varvara Petrovna disliked him, but he 
always knew how to make up to her. 

Nor did she care for Shatov, who became one of our circle 
during the last years of this period. Shatov had been a student 
and had been expelled from the university after some disturbance. 
In his childhood he had been a student of Stepan Trofimovitch’s 
and was’ by birth a serf of Varvara Petrovna’s, the son of a 
former valet of hers, Pavel Fyodoritch, and was greatly indebted 
to her bounty. She disliked him for his pride and ingratitude 
and could never forgive him for not having come straight to her 
on his expulsion from the university. On the contrary he had 
not even answered the letter she had expressly sent him at the 
time, and preferred to be a drudge in the family of a merchant 
of the new style, with whom he went abroad, looking after his 
children more in the position of a nurse than of a tutor. He 
was very eager to travelat the time. The children had a governess 
too, a lively young Russian lady, who also became one of the 
household on the eve of their departure, and had been engaged 
chiefly because she wassocheap. Two months later the merchant 
turned her out of the house for “free thinking.”’ Shatov took him- 
self off after her and soon afterwards married herin Geneva. They 
lived together about three weeks, and then parted as free people 
recognising no bonds, though, no doubt, also through poverty. 
He wandered about Europe alone for a long time afterwards, 
living God knows how ; ‘he is said to have blacked boots in the 
street, and to have been a porter in some dockyard. At last, 
a year before, he had returned to his native place among us and 
settled with an old aunt, whom he buried a month later. His 

sister Dasha, who had also been brought up by Varvara Petrovna, 
_ was a favourite of hers, and treated with respect and considera- 
tion in her house. He saw his sister rarely and was not on’ 
intimate terms with her. In our circle he was always sullen, and 
never talkative; but from time to time, when his convictions 
were touched upon, he be.am2 morbidly irritable and ay uD- 
restrained in his language. 


24 THE POSSESSED 


‘“‘ One has to tie Shatov up and then argue with him,” Stepan 
Trofimovitch would sometimes say in joke, but he liked him. | 

Shatov had radically changed some of his former socialistic 
convictions abroad and had rushed to the opposite extreme. He 
was one of those idealistic beings common in Russia, who are 
suddenly struck by some overmastering idea which seems, as it 
were, to crush them at once, and sometimes forever. They are 
never equal to coping with it, but put passionate faith in it, 
and their whole life passes afterwards, as it were, in the last 
agonies under the weight of the stone that has fallen upon them 
and half crushed them. In appearance Shatov was in complete 
harmony with his convictions: he was short, awkward, had a 
shock of flaxen hair, broad shoulders, thick lips, very thick 
overhanging white eyebrows, a wrinkled forehead, and a hostile, 
obstinately downcast, as it were shamefaced, expression in his 
eyes. His hair was always in a wild tangle and stood up in a 
shock which nothing could smooth. He was seven- or eight-and- 
twenty. 

“‘T no longer wonder that his wife ran away from him,” 
Varvara Petrovna enunciated on one occasion after gazing in- 
tently at him. He tried to be neat in his dress, in spite of his 
extreme poverty. He refrained again from appealing to Varvara 
Petrovna, and struggled along as best he could, doing various 
jobs for tradespeople. At one time he served in a shop, at 
another he was on the point of going as an assistant clerk on a 
freight steamer, but he fell ill just at the time of sailing. It is 
hard to imagine what poverty he was capable of enduring 
without thinking about it at all. After his illness Varvara 
Petrovna sent him a hundred roubles, anonymously and in secret. 
He found out the secret, however, and after some reflection took 
the money and went to Varvara Petrovna to thank her. She 
received him with warmth, but on this occasion, too, he shame- 
fully disappointed her. He only stayed five minutes, staring 
blankly at the ground and smiling stupidly in profound silence, 
and suddenly, at the most interesting point, without listening 
to what she was saying, he got up, made an uncouth sideways 
bow, helpless with confusion, caught against the lady’s expensive 
inlaid work-table, upsetting it on the floor and smashing it to 
atoms, and walked out nearly dead with shame. Liputin 
blamed him severely afterwards for having accepted the hundred 
roubles and having even gone to thank Varvara Petrovna for ° 
them, instead of having returned the money with contempt, 


INTRODUCTORY 25 


because it had come from his former despotic mistress. He 
lived in solitude on the outskirts of the town, and did not like 
any of us to go and see him. He used to turn up invariably 
at Stepan Trofimovitch’s evenings, and borrowed newspapers 
and books from him. 

There was another young man who always came, one Virginsky, 
a clerk in the service here, who had something in common with 
_ Shatov, though on the surface he seemed his complete opposite. 
in every respect. He was a “‘family man” too. He was a 
pathetic and very quiet young man though he was thirty; he 
had considerable education though he was chiefly self-taught. 
He was poor, married, and in the service, and supported the aunt 
and sister of his wife. His wife and all the ladies of his family 
professed the very latest convictions, but in rather a crude form. 
It was a case of “an idea dragged forth into the street,’ as 
Stepan Trofimovitch had expressed it upon a former occasion. 
They got it all out of books, and at the first hint coming from 
any of our little progressive corners in Petersburg they were 
prepared to throw anything overboard, so soon as they were 
advised to do so. Madame Virginsky practised as a midwife 
in the town. She had lived a long while in Petersburg as a 
girl. Virginsky himself was a man of rare single-heartedness, and 
I have seldom met more honest fervour. 

“‘T will never, never, abandon these bright hopes,”’ he used to 
say to me with shining eyes. Of these “ bright hopes” he 
always spoke quietly, in a blissful half-whisper, as it were 
secretly. He was rather tall, but extremely thin and narrow- 
shouldered, and had extraordinarily lank hair of a reddish hue. 
All Stepan Trofimovitch’s condescending gibes at some of his 
opinions he accepted mildly, answered him sometimes very 
seriously, and often nonplussed him. Stepan Trofimovitch treated 
him very kindly, and indeed he behaved like a father to all of us. 

‘“‘ You are all half-hearted chickens,’ he observed to Virginsky 
in joke. ‘‘ Ailwhoare like you, though in you, Virginsky, I have 
not observed that narrow-mindedness I found in Petersburg, 
chez ces séminaristes. But you’re a half-hatched chicken all the 
same. Shatoyv would give anything to hatch out, but he’s half 
hatched too.” | 

“And 1?” Liputin inquired. 

“‘ You’re simply the golden mean which will get on anywhere 
. . . inits own way.”’ 

Liputin was offended. 


26 THE POSSESSED 


The story was told of Virginsky, and it was unhappily only 
too true, that before his wife had spent a year in lawful wedlock 
with him she announced that he was superseded and that she 
preferred Lebyadkin. This Lebyadkin, a stranger to the town, 
turned out afterwards to be a very dubious character, and not 
a retired captain as he represented himself to be. He could do 
nothing but twist his moustache, drink, and chatter the most 
inept nonsense that can possibly be imagined. This fellow, who 
was utterly lacking in delicacy, at once settled in his house, 
glad to live at another man’s expense, ate and slept there and 
came, in the end, to treating the master of the house with con- 
descension. It was asserted that when Virginsky’s wife had 
announced to him that: he was superseded he said to her : 

“‘ My dear, hitherto I have only loved you, but now I respect 
you,” but I doubt whether this renunciation, worthy of ancient 
Rome, was ever really uttered. On the contrary they say that 
he wept violently. A fortnight after he was superseded, all of 
them, in a “‘ family party,’’ went one day for a picnic to a 
wood outside the town to drink tea with their friends. Virginsky 
was in a feverishly lively mood and took part in the dances. 
But suddenly, without any preliminary quarrel, he seized the 
giant Lebyadkin with both hands, by the hair, just as the latter 
was dancing a can-can solo, pushed him down, and began dragging 
him along with shrieks, shouts, and tears: The giant was so 
panic-stricken that he did not attempt to defend himself, and 
hardly uttered a sound all the time he was being dragged along. 
But afterwards he resented it with all the heat of an honourable 
man.  Virginsky spent a whole night on his knees begging his 
wife’s forgiveness. But this forgiveness was not granted, as he 
refused to apologise to Lebyadkin ; moreover, he was upbraided 
for the meanness of his ideas and his foolishness, the latter charge 
based on the fact that he knelt down in the interview with his 
wife. The captain soon disappeared and did not reappear in 
our town till quite lately, when he came with his sister, and with 
entirely different aims ; but of him later. It was no wonder that 
the poor young husband sought our society and found comfort in 
it. But he never spoke of his home-life to us. On one occasion 
only, returning with me from Stepan Trofimovitch’s, he made 
a remote allusion to his position, but clutching my hand at once 
he cried ardently : 

“It's of no consequence. It’s only a_ personal thusiderd 
It’s no hindrance to the ‘ cause,’ not the slightest |’ 


INTRODUCTORY 27 


Stray guests visited our circle too; a Jew, called Lyamshin, 
and a Captain Kartusov came. An old gentleman of inquiring 
mind used to come at one time, but he died. Liputin brought 
an exiled Polish priest called Slontsevsky, and for a time we 
received him on principle, but afterwards we didn’t keep it up. 


IX 


At one time it was reported about the town that our little 
circle was a hotbed of nihilism, profligacy, and godlessness, and 
the rumour gained more and more strength. And yet we did 
nothing but indulge in the most harmless, agreeable, typically 
Russian, light-hearted liberal chatter: ‘‘ The higher liberalism ”’ 
and the “ higher liberal,” that is, a liberal without any definite 
aim, is only possible in Russia. 

Stepan Trofimovitch, like every witty man, needed a listener, 
and, besides that, he needed the consciousness that he was ful- 
filling the lofty duty of disseminating ideas. And finally he 
had to have some one to drink champagne with, and over 
the wine to exchange light-hearted views of a certain sort, about 
Russia and the “ Russian spirit,”” about God in general, and the 
* Russian God” in particular, to repeat for the hundredth 
time the same Russian scandalous stories that every one knew 
and every one repeated. We had no distaste for the gossip of 
the town which often, indeed, led us to the most severe and 
loftily moral verdicts. We fell into generalising about humanity, 
made stern reflections on the future of Europe and mankind in 
general, authoritatively predicted that after Cesarism: France 
would at once sink into the position of a second-rate power, and 
were firmly convinced that this might terribly easily and quickly 
come to pass. We had long ago predicted that the Pope would 
play the part of a simple archbishop in a united Italy, and were 
firmly convinced that this thousand-year-old question had, in 
our age of humanitarianism, industry, and railways, become a 
trifling matter. But, of course, ‘‘ Russian higher liberalism ” 
could not look at the question in any other way. Stepan 
Trofimovitch sometimes talked of art, and very well, though rather 
abstractly. He sometimes spoke of the friends of his youth—all 
names noteworthy in the history of Russian progress. He talked 
of them: with emotion and reverence, though sometimes with 


28 THE POSSESSED 


envy. If we were very much bored, the Jew, Lyamshin (a little 
post-office clerk), a wonderful performer on the piano, sat down 
to play, and in the intervals would imitate a pig, a thunderstorm, 
a confinement with the first cry of the baby, and so on, and so on ; 
it was only for this that he was invited, indeed. If we had 
drunk a great deal—and that did happen sometimes, though not 
often—we flew into raptures, and even on one occasion sang the 
‘“* Marseillaise ’’ in chorus to the accompaniment of Lyamshin, 
though I don’t know how it went off. The great day, the 
nineteenth of February, we welcomed enthusiastically, and for a 
long time beforehand drank toasts in its honour. But that was 
long ago, before the advent of Shatov or Virginsky, when Stepan 
Trofimovitch was still living in the same house with Varvara 
Petrovna. For some time before the great day Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch fell into the habit of muttering to himself well-known, 
though rather far-fetched, lines which must have been written 
by some liberal landowner of the past: 


“The peasant with his axe ts coming, 
Something terrible will happen.” 


Something of that sort, I don’t remember the exact words. 
Varvara Petrovna overheard him on one occasion, and crying, 
‘“‘ Nonsense, nonsense!’ she went out of the room in a rage. 
Liputin, who happened to be present, observed inshignamsly to 
Stepan Trofimovitch : 

“It'll be a pity if their former serfs really do some mischief 
to messieurs les landowners to celebrate the occasion,’ and he 
drew his forefinger round his throat. 

‘“* Cher ami,” Stepan Trofimovitch observed, ‘‘ believe me that 
this (he repeated the gesture) will never be of any use to our 
landowners nor to any of us in general. We shall never be 
capable of organising anything even without our heads, though 
our heads hinder our understanding more than anything.” 

I may observe that many people among us anticipated that 
something extraordinary, such as Liputin predicted, would take 
place on the day of the emancipation, and those who held this 
view were the so-called “‘ authorities’? on the peasantry and 
the government. I believe Stepan Trofimovitch shared this 
idea, so much so that almost on the eve of the great day he began 
asking Varvara Petrovna’s leave to go abroad ; in fact he began 
to be uneasy. But the great day passed, and some time passed — 
after it, and the condescending smile reappeared on Stepan 


INTRODUCTORY 29 


Trofimovitch’s lips. In our presence he delivered himself of 
some noteworthy thoughts on the character of the Russian in 
general, and the Russian peasant in particular. 

“‘ Like hasty people we have been in too great a hurry with 
our peasants,’ he said in conclusion of a series of remarkable 
utterances. ‘‘ We have made them the fashion, and a whole 
section of writers have for several years treated them as though 
they were newly discovered curiosities. We have put laurel- 
wreaths on lousy heads. The Russian village has given us 
only “ Kamarinsky ’ in a thousand years. A remarkable Russian 
poet who was also something of a wit, seeing the great Rachel on 
the stage for the first time cried in ecstasy, ‘1 wouldn’t exchange 
Rachel for a peasant!’ Iam prepared to go further. I would 
give all the peasants in Russia for one Rachel. It’s high time 
to look things in the face more soberly, and not to mix up our 
national rustic pitch with bouquet de  Impératrice.” 

Liputin agreed at once, but remarked that one had to perjure 
oneself and praise the peasant all the same for the sake of being 
progressive, that even ladies in good society shed tears reading 
** Poor Anton,’’? and that some of them even wrote from Paris 
to their bailiffs that they were, henceforward, to treat the peasants 
as humanely as possible. 

It happened, and as ill-luck would have it just after the 
rumours of the Anton Petrov affair had reached us, that there 
was some disturbance in our province too, only about ten miles 
from Skvoreshniki, so that a detachment of soldiers was sent 
down in a hurry. 

This time Stepan Trofimovitch was so much upset that 
he even frightened us. He cried out at the club that more - 
troops were needed, that they ought to be telegraphed for 
from another province ; he rushed off to the governor to protest 
that he had no hand in it, begged him not to allow his name on 
account of old associations to be brought into it, and offered to 
write about his protest to the proper quarter in Petersburg. 
Fortunately it all passed over quickly and ended in nothing, but 
I was surprised at Stepan Trofimovitch at the time. 

Three years later, as every one knows, people were begin- 
ning to talk of nationalism, and “ public opinion”’ first came 
upon the scene. Stepan Trofimovitch laughed a great deal. 

‘My friends,’ he instructed us, “if our nationalism has 
‘dawned’ as they keep repeating in the papers—it’s still at 
school, at some German ‘ Peterschule,’ sitting over a German book 


30 THE POSSESSED 


and repeating its everlasting German lesson, and its German 
teacher will make it go down on its knees when he thinks fit. 
I think highly of the German teacher. But nothing has happened 
and nothing of the kind has dawned and everything is going 
on in the old way, that is, as ordained by God. To my thinking 
that should be enough for Russia, pour notre Sainte Russie. 
Besides, all this Slavism and nationalism is too old to be new. 
Nationalism, if you like, has never existed among us except as a 
distraction for gentlemen’s clubs, and Moscow ones at that. I’m 
not talking of the days of Igor, of course. And besides it all 
comes of idleness. Everything in Russia comes of idleness, 
everything good and fine even. It all springs from the charming, 
cultured, whimsical idleness of our gentry! I’m ready to repeat 
it for thirty thousand years. We don’t know how to live by our 
own labour. And as for the fuss they're making now about the 
‘dawn ’ of some sort of public opinion, has it so suddenly dropped 
from heaven without any warning? How is it they don’t 
understand that before we can have an opinion of our own we 
must have work, our own work, our own initiative in things, our 
own experience. Nothing is to be gained for nothing. If we 
work we shall have an opinion of our own. But.as we never 
shall work, our opinions will be formed for us by those who have 
hitherto done the work instead of us, that is, as always, Europe, 
the everlasting Germans—our teachers for the last two centuries. 
Moreover, Russia is too big a tangle for us to unravel alone 
without the Germans, and without hard work. For the last 
twenty years I’ve been sounding the alarm, and the summons to 
work. I’ve given up my life to that appeal, and, in my folly 
I put faith in it. Now I have lost faith in it, but I sound the 
alarm still, and shall sound it to the tomb. I will pull at the 
bell-ropes until they toll for my own requiem !”’ 

Alas! We could do nothing but assent. We applauded our 
teacher and with what warmth, indeed! And, after all, my 
friends, don’t we still hear to-day, every hour, at every step, the 
same ‘‘ charming,” “‘ clever,” “ liberal,’’ old Russian nonsense ? 

Our teacher believed in God. 

‘““T can’t understand why they make me out an infidel here,’’ 
he used to say sometimes. “I believe in ‘God, mais distinguons, 
I believe in Him as a Being who is conscious of Himself in me 
only. I cannot believe as my Nastasya (the servant) or like 
some country gentleman who believes ‘to be on the safe side,’ © 
or like our dear Shatov—but no, Shatov doesn’t come into 


INTRODUCTORY 31 


it, Shatov believes ‘on principle,’ like a Moscow Slavophil. 
As for Christianity, for all my genuine respect for it, ’m not 
a Christian. I am more of an antique) pagan, like the great 
Goethe, or like an ancient Greek. The very fact that Chris- 
tianity has failed to understand woman is enough, as George 
Sand has so splendidly shown in one of her great novels. As 
for the bowings, fasting and all the rest of it, I don’t under- 
stand what they have to do with me. However busy the 
informers may be here, I don’t care to become a Jesuit. In the 
year 1847 Byelinsky, who was abroad, sent his famous letter 
to Gogol, and warmly reproached him for believing in some 
sort of God. LHntre nous sot dit, | can imagine nothing more 
comic than the moment when Gogol (the Gogol of that period !) 
read that phrase, and... the whole letter! But dismissing 
_ the humorous aspect, and, as I am fundamentally in agreement, 
I point to them and say—these were men! They knew how to 
love their people, they knew how to suffer for them, they knew 
how to sacrifice everything for them, yet they knew how to differ 
from them when they ought, and did not filch certain ideas 
from them. Could Byelinsky have sought. salvation in Lenten 
oil, or peas with radish! . . 

But at this point Shatov interposed. 

‘““Those men of yours never loved the people, they didn’ t 
suffer for them, and didn’t sacrifice anything for them, though 
they may have amused themselves by imagining it ! ”’ he growled 
sullenly, looking down, and moving impatiently in his chair. 

“‘ They didn’t love the people!”’ yelled Stepan Trofimovitch. 
** Oh, how they loved Russia ! ”’ 

‘Neither Russia nor the people!” Shatov yelled too, with 
flashing eyes. ‘‘ You can’t love what you don’t know and they 
had no conception of the Russian people. All of them peered 
at the Russian people through their fingers, and you do too; 
Byelinsky especially : from that very letter to Gogol one can see 
it. Byelinsky, like the Inquisitive Man in Krylov’s fable, did 
not notice the elephant in the museum of curiosities, but concen- 
trated his whole attention on the French Socialist beetles; he 
did not get beyond them. And yet perhaps he was cleverer than 
any of you. You’ve not only overlooked the people, you’ve 
taken up an attitude of disgusting contempt for them, if only 
because you could not.imagine any but the French people, the 
Parisians indeed, and were ashamed that the Russians were 
not like them. That’s the naked truth. And he who has no 


32 THE POSSESSED 


people has no God. You may be sure that all who cease to 
understand their own people and lose their connection with 
them at once lose to the same extent the faith of their fathers, 
and become atheistic or indifferent. I’m speaking the truth ! 
This is a fact which will be realised. That’s why all of you and 
all of us now are either beastly atheists or careless, dissolute 
imbeciles, and nothing more. And you too, Stepan Trofimovitch, 
I don’t make an exception of you at all! In fact, it is on your 
account I am speaking, let me tell you that ! ” 

As a rule, after uttering such monologues (which happened to 
him pretty frequently) Shatov snatched up his cap and rushed 
to the door, in the full conviction that everything was now over, 
and that he had cut short all friendly relations with Stepan 
Trofimovitch for ever. But the latter always succeeded in 
stopping him in time. 

‘‘Hadn’t we better make it up, Shatov, after all these en- 
dearments,’’ he would say, benignly holding out his hand to him 
from his arm-chair. 

Shatov, clumsy and bashful, disliked sentimentality. Exter- 
nally he was rough, but inwardly, I believe, he had great delicacy. 
Although he often went too far, he was the first to suffer for it. 
Muttering something between his teeth in response to Stepan 
Trofimovitch’s appeal, and shuffling with his feet like a bear, he 
gave a sudden and unexpected smile, put down his cap, and 
sat down in the same chair as before, with his eyes stubbornly 
fixed onthe ground. Wine was, of course, brought in, and Stepan 
Trofimovitch proposed some suitable toast, for instance the 
memory of some leading man of the past. 


CHAPTER II 
PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 
bai 


THERE was another being in the world to whom Varvara Petrovna 
was as much attached as she was to Stepan Trofimovitch, her 
only son, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch Stavrogin. It was to under- 
take his education that Stepan Trofimovitch had been engaged. 
The boy was at that time eight years old, and his frivolous father, 
General Stavrogin, was already living apart from Varvara 
- Petrovna, so that the child grew up entirely in his mother’s care. 
To do Stepan Trofimovitch justice, he knew how to win his 
pupil’s heart. ‘The whole secret of this lay in the fact that he was 
a child himself. I was not there in those days, and he continually 
felt the want of a real friend. He did not hesitate to make 
a friend of this little creature as soon as he had grown a little 
older. It somehow came to pass quite naturally that there 
seemed to be no discrepancy of age between them. More than | 
once he awaked his ten- or eleven-year-old friend at night, simply 
to pour out his wounded feelings and weep before him, or to tell 
him some family secret, without realising that this was an out- 
rageous proceeding. They threw themselves into each other’s 
arms and wept. The boy knew that his mother loved him very 
much, but I doubt whether he cared much for her. She talked 
little to him and did not often interfere with him, but he was 
always morbidly conscious of her intent, searching eyes fixed 
upon him. Yet the mother confided his whole instruction and 
moral education to Stepan Trofimovitch. At that time her faith 
in him was unshaken. One can’t help believing that the tutor 
had rather a bad influence on his pupil’s nerves. When at 
sixteen he was taken to a lyceum he was fragile-looking and pale, 
strangely quiet and dreamy. (Later on he was distinguished by 
- great physical strength.) One must assume too that the friends 
went on weeping at night, throwing themselves in each other's. 
arms, though their tears were not always due to domestic 
difficulties. Stepan Trofimovitch succeeded in reaching the 
deepest chords in his pupil’s heart, and had aroused in him a 


first vague sensation of that eternal, sacred yearning which some 
33 ° 


34 THE POSSESSED 


elect souls can never give up for cheap gratification when once 
they have tasted and known it. (There are some connoisseurs 
who prize this yearning more than the most complete satisfaction 
of it, if such were possible.) But in any case it was just as well 
that the pupil and the preceptor were, though none too soon, 
parted. 

For the first two years the lad used to come home from the 
lyceum for the holidays. While Varvara Petrovna and Stepan 
Trofimovitch were staying in Petersburg he was sometimes 
present at the literary evenings at his mother’s, he listened 
and looked on. He spoke little, and was quiet and shy as before. 
His manner to Stepan Trofimovitch was as affectionately atten- 
tive as ever, but there was a shade of reserve in it. He un- 
mistakably avoided distressing, lofty subjects or reminiscences 
of the past. By his mother’s wish he entered the army on 
completing the school course, and soon received a commission 
in one of the most brilliant regiments of the Horse Guards. He 
did not come to show himself to his mother in his uniform, and 
his letters from Petersburg began to be infrequent. Varvara 
Petrovna sent him money without stint, though after the emanci- 
pation the revenue from her estate was so diminished that at 
first her income was less than half what it had been before. She 
had, however, a considerable sum laid by through years of 
economy. She took great interest in her son’s success in the 
highest Petersburg society. Where she had failed, the wealthy 
young officer with expectations succeeded. He renewed ac- 
quaintances which she had hardly dared to dream of, and was 
welcomed everywhere with pleasure. But very soon rather 
strange rumours reached Varvara Petrovna. The young man 
had suddenly taken to riotous living with a sort of frenzy. Not 
that he gambled or drank too much; there was only talk of 
savage recklessness, of running over people in the street with his 
horses, of brutal conduct to a lady of good society with whom he 
had a liaison and whom he afterwards publicly insulted. There 
was a callous nastiness about this affair. It was added, too, that 
he had developed into a regular bully, insulting people for the 
mere pleasure of insulting them. Varvara Petrovna was greatly 
agitated and distressed. Stepan Trofimovitch assured her that 
this was only the first riotous effervescence of a too richly 
endowed nature, that the storm would subside and that this 
was only like the youth of Prince Harry, who caroused with. 
Falstaff, Poins, and Mrs. Quickly, as described by Shakespeare. 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 35 


This time Varvara Petrovna did not cry out, ‘‘ Nonsense, non- 
sense |”? as she was very apt to do in later years in response to 
Stepan Trofimovitch. On the contrary she listened very eagerly, 
asked him to explain this theory more exactly, took up Shake- 
speare herself and with great attention read the immortal 
chronicle, But it did not comfort her, and indeed she did not 
find the resemblance very striking. With feverish impatience 
she awaited answers to some of her letters. She had not long to 
wait for them. The fatal news soon reached her that “‘ Prince 
Harry’ had been involved in two duels almost at once, was 
entirely to blame for both of them, had killed one of his adver- 
saries on the spot and had maimed the other and was awaiting 
his trial in consequence. The case ended in his being degradea 
to the ranks, deprived of the rights of a nobleman, and trans- 
ferred to.an infantry line regiment, and he only escaped worse 
punishment by special favour. 

In 1863 he somehow succeeded in distinguishing himself ; 
he received a cross, was promoted to be a non-commissioned 
officer, and rose rapidly to the rank of an officer. During this 
period Varvara Petrovna despatched perhaps hundreds of letters 
to the capital, full of prayers and supplications. She even 
stooped to some humiliation in this extremity. After his pro- 
motion the young man suddenly resigned his commission, but 
he did not, come back to Skvoreshniki again, and gave up writing 
to his mother altogether. They learned by roundabout means 
that he was back in Petersburg, but that he was not to be met 
in the same society as before ; he seemed to be in hiding. They 
found out that he was living in strange company, associating with 
the dregs of the population of Petersburg, with slip-shod govern- 
ment clerks, discharged military men, beggars of the higher class, 
and drunkards of all sorts—that he visited their filthy families, 
spent days and nights in dark slums and all sorts of low haunts, 
that he had sunk very low, that he was in rags, and that appa- 
rently he liked it. He did not ask his mother for money, he 
had his own little estate—once the property of his father, 
General Stavrogin, which yielded at least some revenue, and 
which, it was reported, he had let to a German from Saxony. 
At last his mother besought him to come to her, and “ Prince 
Harry’ made hisappearance in our town. I had never set eyes 
on him before, but now I got a very distinct impression of him. 

He was a very handsome young man of five-and-twenty, and { 
must own I was impressed by him. I had expected to see a 


36 THE POSSESSED 

dirty ragamuffin, sodden with drink and debauchery. He was, 
on the contrary, the most elegant gentleman I had ever met, 
extremely well dressed, with an air and manner only to be found 
in a man accustomed to culture and refinement. I was not 
the only person surprised. It was a surprise to all the 
townspeople to whom, of course, young Stavrogin’s’ whole 
biography was well known in its minutest details, though one 
could not imagine how they had got hold of them,'and, what 
was still more surprising, half of their stories about him turned 
out to be true. 

All our ladies were wild over the new visitor. They were 
sharply divided into two parties, one of which adored him while 
the other half regarded him with a hatred that was almost 
blood-thirsty : but both were crazy about him. Some of them 
were particularly fascinated by the idea that he had perhaps a 
fateful secret hidden in his soul ; others were positively delighted 
at the fact that he was a murderer. It appeared too that he 
had had a very good education and was indeed a man of consider- 
able culture. No great acquirements were needed, of course, 
to astonish us. But he could judge also of very interesting 
everyday affairs, and, what was of the utmost value, he judged of 
them with remarkable good sense. I must mention as a peculiar 
fact that almost from the first day we all of us thought him a 
very sensible fellow. He was not very talkative, he was elegant 
without exaggeration, surprisingly modest, and at the same 
time bold and self-reliant, as none of us were. Our dandies 
gazed at him with envy, and were completely eclipsed by him. 
His face, too, impressed me. His hair was of a peculiarly 
intense black, his light-coloured eyes were peculiarly light and 
calm, his complexion was peculiarly soft and white, the red in 
his cheeks was too bright and clear, his teeth were like pearls, 
and his lips like coral—one would have thought that he must 
be a paragon of beauty, yet at the same time there seemed 
something repellent about him. It was said that his face 
suggested a mask; so much was said though, among other 
things they talked of his extraordinary physical strength. He 
was rather tall. Varvara Petrovna looked at him with pride, yet 
with continual uneasiness. He spent about six months among 
us—listless, quiet, rather morose. He made his appearance in 
society, and with unfailing propriety performed all the duties 
demanded by our provincial etiquette. He was related, on his ’ 
father’s side, to the governor, and was received by the latter as 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 37 


a near kinsman. But a few months passed and the wild beast 
showed his claws. 

I may observe by the way, in parenthesis, that Ivan Ossipo- 
vitch, our dear mild governor, was rather like an old woman, 
though he was of good family and highly connected—which 
explains the fact that he remained so long among us, though he 
steadily avoided all the duties of his office. From his munificence 
and hospitality he ought rather to have been a marshal of nobility 
of the good old days than a governor in such busy times as ours. 
It was always said in the town that it was not he, but Varvara 
Petrovna who governed the province. Of course this was said 
sarcastically ; however, it was certainly a falsehood. And, indeed, 
much wit was wasted on the subject among us. On the contrary, 
in later years, Varvara Petrovna purposely and consciously 
withdrew from anything like a position of authority, and, in 
spite of the extraordinary respect in which she was held by the 
whole province, voluntarily confined her influence within strict 
limits set up by herself. Instead of these higher responsibilities 
she suddenly took up the management of her estate, and, within 
two or three years, raised the revenue from it almost to what it 
had yielded in the past. Giving up her former romantic im- 
pulses (trips to Petersburg, plans for founding a magazine, and 
so on) she began to be careful and to save money. She kept even 
Stepan Trofimovitch at a distance, allowing him to take lodgings 
in another house (a change for which he had long been worrying 
her under various pretexts). Little by little Stepan Trofimovitch 
began to call her a prosaic woman, or more jestingly, “ My 
prosaic friend.”” I need hardly say he only ventured on such 
jests in an extremely respectful form, and on rare, and carefully 
chosen, occasions. 

All of us in her intimate circle felt—Stepan Trofimovitch more 
acutely than any of us—that her son had come to her almost, 
as it were, as a new hope, and even as a sort of new aspiration. 
Her passion for her son dated from the time of his successes in 
Petersburg society, and grew more intense from the moment that 
_he was degraded in the army. Yet she was evidently afraid of 
him, and seemed like a slave in his presence. It could be seen that 
she was afraid of something vague and mysterious which she 
could not have put into words, and she often stole searching 
glances at ‘‘ Nicolas,’ scrutinising him reflectively ... and 
behold—the wild beast suddenly showed his claws. 


38 THE POSSESSED 


II 


Suddenly, apropos of nothing, our prince was guilty of incredible 
outrages upon various persons and, what was most striking, 
these outrages were utterly unheard of, quite inconceivable, 
unlike anything commonly done, utterly silly and mischievous, 
quite unprovoked and objectless. One of the most respected 
of our club members, on our committee of management, Pyotr 
Pavlovitch Gaganov, an elderly man of high rank in the service, 
had formed the innocent habit of declaring vehemently on all 
sorts of occasions: ‘‘ No, you can’t lead me by the nose!”’ Well, 
there is no harm in that. But one day at the club, when he 
brought out this phrase in connection with some heated discussion 
in the midst of a little group of members (all persons of some 
consequence) Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, who was standing on 
one side, alone and unnoticed, suddenly went up to Pyotr Pavlo- 
vitch, took him unexpectedly and firmly with two fingers by the 
nose, and succeeded in leading him two or three steps across the 
room. He could have had no grudge against Mr. Gaganov. It 
might be thought to be a mere schoolboy prank, though, of 
course, a most unpardonable one. Yet, describing it afterwards, 
people said that he looked almost dreamy at the very instant 
of the operation, “as though he had gone out of his mind,” but 
that was recalled and reflected upon long afterwards. In the 
excitement of the moment all they recalled was the minute after, 
when he certainly saw it all as it really was, and far from being 
confused smiled gaily and maliciously ‘“‘ without the slightest 
regret.” There was a terrific outcry; he was surrounded. 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch kept turning round, looking about him, 
answering nobody, and glancing curiously at the persons ex- 
claiming around him. At last he seemed suddenly, as it were, 
to sink into thought again—so at least it was reported—frowned, 
went firmly up to the affronted Pyotr Pavlovitch, and with 
evident vexation said in a rapid mutter : 

“You must forgive me, of course . ..I really don’t know 
what suddenly came over me . . . it’s silly.” 

The carelessness of his apology was almost equivalent to a © 
fresh insult. The outcry was greater than ever. Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch shrugged his shoulders and went away. 

All this was very stupid, to say nothing of its gross indecency— 





PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 39 


a calculated and premeditated indecency as it seemed at first 
sight—and therefore a premeditated and utterly brutal insult 
to our whole society. So it was taken to be by every one. We 
began by promptly and unanimously striking young Stavrogin’s 
name off the list of club members. Then it was decided to send 
an appeal in the name of the whole club to the governor, begging 
him at once (without waiting for the case to be formally tried in 
court) to use “‘ the administrative power entrusted to him ”’ to 
restrain this dangerous ruffian, “this duelling bully from the 
capital, and so protect the tranquillity of all the gentry of our 
town from injurious encroachments.” It was added with angry 
resentment that ‘“‘a law might be found to control even Mr. 
Stavrogin.”” This phrase was prepared by way of a thrust at 
_ the governor on account of Varvara Petrovna. They elaborated 
it with relish. As ill luck would have it, the governor was not in 
the town at the time. He had gone to a little distance to stand 
godfather to the child of a very charming lady, recently left a 
widow in an interesting condition. But it was known that he 
would soon be back. In the meanwhile they got up a regular 
ovation for the respected and insulted gentleman; people 
embraced and kissed him; the whole town called upon him. It 
was even proposed to give a subscription dinner in his honour, 
and they only gave up the idea at his earnest request—reflecting 
possibly at last that the man had, after all, been pulled by the 
nose and that that was really nothing to congratulate him upon. 

Yet, how had it happened ? How could it have happened ? 
It is remarkable that no one in the whole town put down this 
savage act to madness. They must have been predisposed to 
expect such actions from Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, even when 
he was sane. For my part I don’t know to this day how to 
explain it, in spite of the event that quickly followed and 
apparently explained everything, and conciliated every one. I 
will add also that, four years later, in reply to a discreet question 
from me about the incident at the club, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
answered, frowning: “I wasn’t quite well at the time.” But 
there is no need to anticipate events. 

The general outburst of hatred with which every one fell upon 
the ‘‘ruffian and duelling bully from the capital’ also struck 
me as curious. They insisted on seeing an insolent design 
and deliberate intention to insult our whole society at once. The 
truth was no one liked the fellow, but, on the contrary, he had 
set every one against him—and one wonders how. Up to the 


40 THE POSSESSED 


last incident he had never quarrelled with anyone, nor insulted 
anyone, but was as courteous as a gentleman in a fashion-plate, 
if only the latter were able to speak. I imagine that he was 
hated for his pride. Even our ladies, who had begun by 
adoring him, railed against him now, more loudly than the men. 

Varvara Petrovna was dreadfully overwhelmed. She con- 
fessed afterwards to Stepan Trofimovitch that she had had a 
foreboding of all this long before, that every day for the last 
six months she had been expecting “‘ just something of that sort,”’ 
a remarkable admission on the part of his own mother. “ It’s 
begun !”’ she thought to herself with a shudder. The morning 
after the incident at the club she cautiously but firmly approached 
the subject with her son, but the poor woman was trembling all 
over in spite of her firmness. She had not slept all night and even 
went out early to Stepan Trofimovitch’s lodgings to ask his 
advice, and shed tears there, a thing which she had never been 
known to do before anyone. She longed for ‘‘ Nicolas”’ to say 
something to her, to deign to give some explanation. Nikolay, 
who was always so polite and respectful to his mother, listened to 
her for some time scowling, but very seriously. He suddenly 
got up without saying a ward, kissed her hand and went away. 
That very evening, as though by design, he perpetrated another 
scandal. It was of a more harmless and ordinary character 
than the first. Yet, owing to the state of the public mind, it 
increased the outcry in the town. 

Our friend Liputin turned up and called on Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
dovitch immediately after the latter’s interview with his mother, 
and earnestly begged for the honour of his company at a little 
party he was giving for his wife’s birthday that evening. 
Varvara Petrovna had long watched with a pang at her heart her 
son’s taste for such low company, but she had not dared to speak 
of it to him. He had made several acquaintances besides Liputin 
in the third rank of our society, and even in lower depths—he had 
a propensity for making such friends. He had never been in 
Liputin’s house before, though he had met the man himself. He 
guessed that Liputin’s invitation now was the consequence of 
the previous day’s scandal, and that as a local liberal he was 
delighted at the scandal, genuinely believing that that was the 
proper way to treat stewards at the club, and that it was very 


well done. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch smiled and promised to _ 


come. 
A great number of guests had assembled. The company was 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 4} 


not very presentable, but very sprightly. Liputin, vain and 
envious, only entertained visitors twice a year, but on those 
occasions he did it without stint. The most honoured of the 
invited guests, Stepan Trofimovitch, was prevented by illness 
from being present. Tea was handed, and there were refresh- 
ments and vodka in plenty. Cards were played at three tables, 
and while waiting for supper the young people got up a dance. 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch led out Madame Liputin—a very pretty 
little woman who was dreadfully shy of him—took two turns 
round the room with her, sat down beside her, drew her into 
conversation and made her laugh. Noticing at last how pretty 
she was when she laughed, he suddenly, before all the company, 
seized her round the waist and kissed her on the lips two or 
three times with great relish. The poor frightened lady fainted. 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch took his hat and went up to the 
husband, who stood petrified in the middle of the general excite- 
ment. Looking at him he, too, became confused and muttering 
hurriedly “‘ Don’t be angry,’ went away. Liputin ran after 
him in the entry, gave him his fur-coat with his own hands, and 
saw him down the stairs, bowing. But next day a rather 
amusing sequel followed this comparatively harmless prank—a 
sequel from which Liputin gained some credit, and of which he 
took the fullest possible advantage. 

At ten o’clock in the morning Liputin’s servant Agafya, an 
easy-mannered, lively, rosy-cheeked peasant woman of thirty, 
made her appearance at Stavrogin’s house, with a message for 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. She insisted on seeing ‘“ his honour 
himself.” He had a very bad headache, but he went out. 
Varvara Petrovna succeeded in being present when the message 
was given. 

_“Sergay Vassilyevitch’’ (Liputin’s name), Agafya rattled off 
briskly, “‘ bade me first of all give you his respectful greetings and 
ask after your health, what sort of night your honour spent after 
yesterday’s doings, and how your honour feels now after yester- 
day’s doings ? ”’ 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch smiled. 

“Give him my greetings and thank him, and tell your master 
from me, Agafya, that he’s the most sensible man in the town.” 

‘And he told me to answer that,’ Agafya caught him up still 
more briskly, ‘‘ that he knows that without your telling him, and 
wishes you the same.”’ 

“ Really !. But how could he tell what I should say to you ?”’ 


— 42 THE POSSESSED 


‘‘T can’t say in what way he could tell, but when I had set off 
and had gone right down the street, I heard something, and 
there he was, running after me without hiscap. ‘“‘I say, Agafya, if 
by any chance he says to you, ‘ Tell your master that he has more 
sense than all the town,’ you tell him at once, don’t forget, ‘ The 
master himself knows that very well, and wishes you the same.’ ”’ 


lil 


At last the interview with the governor took place too. Our 
dear, mild, Ivan Ossipovitch had only just returned and only 
just had time to hear the angry complaint from the club. There 
was no doubt that something must be done, but he was troubled. 
The hospitable old man seemed also rather afraid of his young 
kinsman. He made up his mind, however, to induce him to 
apologise to the club and to his victim in satisfactory form, 
and, if required, by letter, and then to persuade him to leave 
us for a time, travelling, for instance, to improve his mind, in 
Italy, or in fact anywhere abroad. In the waiting-room in 
which on this occasion he received Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
(who had been at other times privileged as a relation to wander 
all over the house unchecked), Alyosha Telyatnikov, a clerk of 
refined manners, who was also a member of the governor’s 
household, was sitting in a corner opening envelopes at a table, 
and in the next room, at the window nearest to the door, a stout 
and sturdy colonel, a former friend and colleague of the governor, 
was sitting alone reading the Golos, paying no attention, of 
course, to what was taking place in the waiting-room ; in fact, 
he had his back turned. Ivan Ossipovitch approached the 
subject in a roundabout way, almost in a whisper, but kept 
getting a little muddled. Nikolay looked anything but cordial, 
not at all as a relation should. He was pale and sat looking 
down and continually moving his eyebrows as though trying 
to control acute pain. 

“You have a kind heart and a generous one, Nicolas,” the 
old man put in among other things, “ you’re a man of great 
culture, you’ve grown up in the highest circles, and here too your 
behaviour has hitherto been a model, which has been a great 
consolation to your mother, who is so precious to all of us... . 
And now again everything has appeared in such an unaccountable 
light, so detrimental to all! I speak as a friend of your family, 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 43 


as an old man who loves you sincerely and a relation, at whose 
words you cannot take offence. ... Tell me, what drives you 
to such reckless proceedings so contrary to all accepted rules 
and habits? What can be the meaning of such acts which seem 
almost like outbreaks of delirium ? ”’ 

Nikolay listened with vexation and impatience. All at once 
there was a gleam of something sly and mocking in his eyes. 

“Tl tell you what drives me to it,’ he said sullenly, and 
looking round him he bent down to Ivan Ossipovitch’s ear. 
The refined Alyosha Telyatnikov moved three steps farther 
away towards the window, and the colonel coughed over the 
Golos. Poor Ivan Ossipovitch hurriedly and trustfully inclined 
his ear; he was exceedingly curious. And then something 
utterly incredible, though on the other side only too unmistakable, 
took place. The old man suddenly felt that, instead of telling 
him some interesting secret, Nikolay had seized the upper part 
of his ear between his teeth and was nipping it ratherhard. He 
shuddered, and breath failed him. 

“Nicolas, this is beyond a joke!’’ he moaned mechanically 
in a voice not his own. 

Alyosha and the colonel had not yet grasped the situation, 
besides they couldn’t see, and fancied up to the end that the two 
were whispering together ; and yet the old man’s desperate face 
alarmed them. They looked at one another with wide-open 
eyes, not knowing whether to rush to his assistance as agreed or 
to wait. Nikolay noticed this perhaps, and bit the harder. 

“Nicolas! Nicolas!’’ his victim moaned again, ““come... 
you've had your joke, that’s enough !”’ 

In another moment the poor governor would certainly have 
died of terror ; but the monster had mercy on him, and let go his 
ear. The old man’s deadly terror lasted for a full minute, and it 
was followed by a sort of fit. Within half an hour Nikolay was 
arrested and removed for the time to the guard-room, where he 
was confined in a special cell, with a special sentinel at the door. 
This decision was a harsh one, but our mild governor was so angry 
that he was prepared to take the responsibility even if he had 
to face Varvara Petrovna. To the general amazement, when 
this lady arrived at the governor’s in haste and in nervous 
irritation to discuss the matter with him at once, she was refused 
admittance, whereupon, without getting out of the carriage, 
she returned home, unable to believe her senses. » 

And at last everything was explained! At two o’clock in the 


44 | THE POSSESSED 


morning the prisoner, who had till then been calm and had even 
slept, suddenly became noisy, began furiously beating on the 
door with his fists, with unnatural strength wrenched the iron 
grating off the door, broke the window, and cut his hands all 
over. When the officer on duty ran with a detachment of men 
and the keys and ordered the cell to be opened that they might 
rush in and bind the maniac, it appeared that he was suffering 
from acute brain fever. He was taken home to his mother. 

Everything was explained at once. All our three doctors 
gave it as their opinion that the patient might well have been 
in a delirious state for three days before, and that though he might 
have apparently been in possession of full consciousness and 
cunning, yet he might have been deprived of common sense and 
will, which was indeed borne out by the facts. So it turned out 
that Liputin had guessed the truth sooner than any one. Ivan 
Ossipovitch, who was a man of delicacy and feeling, was com- 
pletely abashed. But what was striking was that he, too, had 
considered Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch capable of any mad action 
even when in the full possession of his faculties. At the club, too, 
people were ashamed and wondered how it was they had failed 
to ‘‘see the elephant”’ and had missed the only explanation of all 
these marvels: there were, of course, sceptics among them, but 
they could not long maintain their position. 

Nikolay was in bed for more than two months. A famous 
doctor was summoned from Moscow for a consultation; the 
whole town called on Varvara Petrovna. She forgave them. 
When in the spring Nikolay had completely recovered and assented 
without discussion to his mother’s proposal that he should go for 
a tour to Italy, she begged him further to pay visits of farewell 
to all the neighbours, and so far as possible to apologise where 
necessary. Nikolay agreed with great alacrity. It became 
known at the club that he had had a most delicate explanation 
with Pyotr Pavlovitch Gaganov, at the house of the latter, who 
had been completely satisfied with his apology. As he went 
round to pay these calls Nikolay was very grave and even gloomy, 
Every one appeared to receive him sympathetically, but every- 
body seemed embarrassed and glad that he was going to Italy. 
Ivan Ossipovitch was positively tearful, but was, for some 
reason, unable to bring himself to embrace him, even at the final 
leave-taking. It is true that some of us retained the conviction 
that the scamp had simply been making fun of us, and that the 
illness was neither here nor there. He went to see Liputin too. 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 45 


‘Tell me,” he said, “how could you guess beforehand what 
I should say about your sense and prime Agafya with an answer 
to it?” 

“Why,” laughed Liputin, “it was because I recognised that 
you were a clever man, and so I foresaw what your answer 
would be.”’ 

* Anyway, it was a remarkable coincidence. But, excuse me, 
did you consider me a sensible man and not insane when you sent 
Agafya ?” 

“For the cleverest and most rational, and I only pretended to 
believe that you were insane. ... And you guessed at once 
what was in my mind, and sent a testimonial to my wit through 
Agafya.” 

‘Well, there you’re a little mistaken. I really was... 
unwell...” muttered Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, frowning. 
“ Bah!” he cried, “do you suppose I’m capable of attacking 
people when I’m in my senses ? What object would there be in 
i ae 

Liputin shrank together and didn’t know what to answer. 
Nikolay turned pale or, at least, so it seemed to Liputin. 

“You have a very peculiar way of looking at things, anyhow,” 
Nikolay went on, “ but as for Agafya, I understand, of course, that 
you simply sent her to be rude to me.” 

““T couldn’t challenge you to a duel, could I ?”’ 

“Oh, no, of course! I seem to have heard that you’re not 
fond of duels... .” 

‘““Why borrow from the French?” said Liputin, doubling 
up again. 

“You’re for nationalism, then ? ”’ 

_ Liputin shrank into himself more than ever. 

“‘ Ba, ba! What do I see ?” cried Nicolas, noticing a volume 
of Considérant in the most conspicuous place on the table, 
“You don’t mean to say you’re a Fourierist! I’m afraid you 
must be! And isn’t this too borrowing from the French ?” 
he laughed, tapping the book with his finger. 

‘No, that’s not taken from the French,” Liputin cried with posi- 
tive fury, jumping up from his chair. “That is taken from 
the universal language of humanity, not simply from the French. 
From the language of the universal social republic and harmony 
of mankind, let me tell you! Not simply from the French !” 

“Foo! hang it all! There’s no such language!” laughed 
Nikolay. ) 


46 THE POSSESSED 


Sometimes a trifle will catch the attention and exclusively 
absorb it for a time. Most of what I have to tell of young 
Stavrogin will come later. But I will note now as a curious fact 
that of all the impressions made on him by his stay in our town, 
the one most sharply imprinted on his memory was the unsightly 
and almost abject figure of the little provincial official, the coarse 
and jealous family despot, the miserly money-lender who picked 
up the candle-ends and scraps left from dinner, and was at the 
same time a passionate believer in some visionary future “ social 
harmony,’ who at night gloated in ecstasies over fantastic 
pictures of a future phalanstery, in the approaching realisation 
of which, in Russia, and in our province, he believed as firmly as 
in his own existence. And that in the very place where he had 
saved up to buy himself a “ little home,” where he had married 
for the second time, getting a dowry with his bride, where perhaps, 
for a hundred miles round there was not one man, himself 
included, who was the very least like a future member “‘ of the 
universal human republic and social harmony.”’ 

‘“God knows how these people come to exist!’ Nikolay 
wondered, recalling sometimes the unlooked-for Fourierist. 


IV 


Our prince travelled for over three years, so that he was almost 
forgotten in the town. We learned from Stepan Trofimovitch 
that he had travelled all over Europe, that he had even been in 
Egypt and had visited Jerusalem, and then had joined some 
scientific expedition to Iceland, and he actually did go to Iceland. 
It was reported too that he had spent one winter attending 
lectures in a German university. He did not write often to his: 
mother, twice a year, or even less, but Varvara Petrovna was 
not angry or offended at this. She accepted submissively and 
without repining the relations that had been established once for 
all between her son and herself. She fretted for her ‘‘ Nicolas ”’ and. 
dreamed of him continually. She kept her dreams and lamenta- 
tions to herself. She seemed to have become less intimate even. 
with Stepan Trofimovitch. She was forming secret projects, 
and seemed to have become more careful about money than ever.. 
She was more than ever given to saving money and being: © 
angry at Stepan Trofimovitch’s losses at cards. 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 47 


At last, in the April of this year, she received a letter from Paris 
from Praskovya Ivanovna Drozdov, the widow of the general and 
the friend of Varvara Petrovna’schildhood. Praskovya Ivanovna, 
whom Varvara Petrovna had not seen or corresponded with for 
eight years, wrote, informing her that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
had become very intimate with them and a great friend of her 
only daughter, Liza, and that he was intending to accompany 
them to Switzerland, to Verney-Montreux, though in the house- 
hold of Count K. (a very influential personage in Petersburg), 
who was now staying in Paris. He was received like a son of 
the family, so that he almost lived at the count’s. The letter 
was brief, and the object of it was perfectly clear, though it 
contained only a plain statement of the above-mentioned facts 
without drawing any inferences from them. Varvara Petrovna 
did not pause long to consider ; she made up her mind instantly, 
made her preparations, and taking with her her protégée, Dasha 
(Shatov’s sister), she set off in the middle of April for Paris, and 
from there went on to Switzerland. She returned in July, alone, 
leaving Dasha with the Drozdovs. She brought us the news 
that the Drozdovs themselves had promised to arrive among 
us by the end of August. 

The Drozdovs, too, were landowners of our province, but the 
official duties of General Ivan Ivanovitch Drozdov (who had been 
a friend of Varvara Petrovna’s and a colleague of her husband’s) 
had always prevented them from visiting their magnificent 
estate. On the death of the general, which had taken place the 
year before, the inconsolable widow had gone abroad with her 
daughter, partly in order to try the grape-cure which she proposed 
to carry out at Verney-Montreux during the latter half of the 
summer. On their return to Russia they intended to settle in our 
province for good. She had a large house in the town which had 
stood empty for many years with the windows nailed up. 
They were wealthy people. Praskovya Ivanovna had been, in 
her first marriage, a Madame Tushin, and like her school-friend, 
Varvara Petrovna, was the daughter of a government contractor 
of the old school, and she too had been an heiress at her marriage. 
Tushin, a retired cavalry captain, was also a man of means, and 
of some ability. At his death he left a snug fortune to his only 
daughter Liza, a child of seven. Now that Lizaveta Nikolaevna 
was twenty-two her private fortune might confidently be reckoned 
at 200,000 roubles, to say nothing of the property which was 
bsund to come to her at the death of her mother, who had no 


48 THE POSSESSED 


children by her second marriage. Varvara Petrovna seemed 
to be very well satisfied with her expedition. In her own opinion 
she had succeeded in coming to a satisfactory understanding with 
Praskovya Ivanovna, and immediately on her arrival she con- 
fided everything to Stepan Trofimovitch. She was positively 
effusive with him as she had not been for a very long time. 

“ Hurrah!” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, and snapped his 
fingers. 

He was in a perfect rapture, especially as he had spent the 
whole time of his friend’s absence in extreme dejection. On 
setting off she had not even taken leave of him properly, and 
had said nothing of her plan to ‘“ that old woman,’ dreading, 
perhaps, that he might chatter about it. She was cross with 
him at the time on account of a considerable gambling debt 
which she had suddenly discovered. But before she leit Switzer- 
land she had felt that on her return she must make up for it to her 
forsaken friend, especially as she had treated him very curtly 
for a long time past. Her abrupt and mysterious departure had 
made a profound and poignant impression on the timid heart of 
Stepan Trofimovitch, and to make matters worse he was beset 
with other difficulties at the same time. He was worried by a 
very considerable money obligation, which had weighed upon 
him for a long time and which he could never hope to meet 
without Varvara Petrovna’s assistance. Moreover, in the May 
of this year, the term of office of our mild and gentle Ivan 
Ossipovitch came to an end. He was superseded under rather 
unpleasant circumstances. Then, while Varvara Petrovna was 


still away, there followed the arrival of our new governor, Andrey — 


Antonovitch von Lembke, and with that a change began at once 
to be perceptible in the attitude of almost the whole of our 
provincial society towards Varvara Petrovna, and consequently 
towards Stepan Trofimovitch. He had already had time anyway 
to make some disagreeable though valuable observations, and 
seemed very apprehensive alone without Varvara Petrovna. 
He had an agitating suspicion that he had already been mentioned 
to the governor as a dangerous man. He knew for a fact that 
some of our ladies meant to give up calling on Varvara Petrovna. 
Of our governor’s wife (who was only expected to arrive in the 
autumn) it was reported that though she was, so it was heard, 
proud, she was a real aristocrat, and ‘“ not like that poor Varvara 


Petrovna.’’ Everybody seemed to know for a fact, and in the ° 


greatest detail, that our governor’s wife and Varvara Petrovna 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 49 


had met already in society and had parted enemies, so that the 
mere mention of Madame von Lembke’s name would, it was 
said, make a painful impression on Varvara Petrovna. The 
confident and triumphant air of Varvara Petrovna, the con- 
temptuous indifference with which she heard of the opinions of 
our provincial ladies and the agitation in local society, revived 
the flagging spirits of. Stepan Trofimovitch and cheered him 
-upatonce. With peculiar, gleefully-obsequious humour, he was 
beginning to describe the new governor’s arrival. 

““ You are no doubt aware, excellente amie,’ he said, jauntily 
and coquettishly drawling his words, “what is meant by a 
Russian administrator, speaking generally, and what is meant 
by a new Russian administrator, that is the newly-baked, newly- 
established . . . ces interminables mots Russes/! But I don’t 
think you can know in practice what is meant by administrative 
ardour, and what sort of thing that is.”’ 

“ Administrative ardour ? I don’t know what that is.” 

“Well... Vous savez chez nous... Hn un mot, set the 
most insignificant nonentity to sell miserable tickets at a railway 
station, and the nonentity will at once feel privileged to look down 
on you like a Jupiter, pour montrer son pouvoir when you go to 
take a ticket. ‘ Now then,’ he says, ‘ I shall show you my power ’ 

. and in them it comes to a genuine, administrative ardour. 
En un mot, I’ve read that some verger in one of our Russian 
churches abroad—mavs c’est trés curieux—drove, literally drove 
a distinguished English family, les dames charmantes, out of the 
church before the beginning of the Lenten service . . . vous savez 
ces chants et le lire de Job... on the simple pretext that 
‘foreigners are not allowed to loaf about a Russian church, 
and that they must come at the time fixed. .. .’ And he sent 
them into fainting fits... . That verger was suffering from 
an attack of administrative ardour, et il a montré son pouvoir.” 

‘ Cut it short if you can, Stepan Trofimovitch.” 

“Mr. von Lembke is making a tour of the province now. Ln 
un mot, this Andrey Antonovitch, though he is a russified 
German and of the Orthodox persuasion, and even—lI will say 
- that for him—a remarkably handsome man of about forty .. .” 

‘‘ What makes you think he’s a handsome man? He has 
eves like a sheep’s.”’ 

‘‘ Precisely so. But in this I yield, of course, to the opinion 
of our ladies.” 

“ Let’s get on, Stepan Trofimovitch, I beg you! By the way, 

D 


50 THE POSSESSED 


you’re wearing a red neck-tie. Is it long since you’ve bation to 
ib?” 

“T’ve . . . I’ve only put it on to-day.” 

‘“ And do you take your constitutional? Do you go for a 
four-mile walk every day as the doctor told you to?” 


‘‘N-not .. . always.’ 
“‘I knew you didn’t! I felt sure of that when I was in 
Switzerland !’’ she cried irritably. ‘““ Now you must go not four 


but six miles a day! You’ve grown terribly slack, terribly, 
terribly ! You're not simply getting old, you’re getting decrepit. 

. . You shocked me when I first saw you just now, in spite of 
your red tie, quelle idée rouge! Go on about Von Lembke if 
you've really something to tell me, and do finish some time, I 
entreat you, I’m tired.” 

‘“ Hn un mot, 1 only wanted to say that he is one of those 
administrators who begin to have power at forty, who, till they’re 
forty, have been stagnating in insignificance and then suddenly 
come to the front through suddenly acquiring a wife, or some 
other equally desperate means. ... That is, he has gone away 
now... that is, [ mean to say, it was at once whispered in 
both his ears that I am a corrupter of youth, and a hot-bed of 
provincial atheism. . . . He began making inquiries at once.” 

‘Ts that true ?”’ 

“IT took steps about it, in fact. When he was ‘ informed’ 
that you ‘ruled the province,’ vous savez, he allowed himself 
to use the expression that ‘ there shall be nothing of that sort in 
the future.’ ”’ 

** Did he say that ?”’ 

“That ‘ there shall be nothing of the sort in future,’ and, avec 
celle morgue. ... His wife, Yulia Mihailovna, we shall behold 
at the end of August, she’s coming straight from Petersburg.” 

‘From abroad. We met there.” 

“ Vraiment ?” 

‘In Paris and in Switzerland. She’s related to the Drozdovs.”’ 

“Related! What an extraordinary coincidence! They say 
she is ambitious and . . . supposed to have great connections.” 

‘* Nonsense! Connections indeed! She was an old maid 
without a farthing till she was five-and-forty. But now she’s 
hooked her Von Lembke, and, of course, her whole object. is to 
push him forward. They’re both intriguers.”’ 

‘““ And they say she’s two years older than he is ? ” 

“Five. Her mother used to wear out her skirts on my door- 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING Bl 


steps in Moscow ; she used to beg for an invitation to our balls 
as a favour when my husband was living. And this creature 
used to sit all night alone in a corner without dancing, with her 
turquoise fly on her forehead, so that simply from pity I used 
to have to send her her first partner at two o’clock in the morning. 
She was five-and-twenty then, and they used to rig her out in 
short skirts like a little girl. It was improper to have them 
about at last.” 

‘‘ T seem to see that fly.” 

“T tell you, as soon as I arrived I was in the thick of an 
intrigue. You read Madame Drozdov’s letter, of course. What 
could be clearer? What did I find? That fool Praskovya 
herselfi—she always was a fool—looked at me as much as to ask 
why ’dcome. You can fancy how surprised I was. I looked 
round, and there was that Lembke woman at her tricks, and 
that cousin of hers—old Drozdov’s nephew—it was all clear! 
You may be sure I changed all that in a twinkling, and Pras- 
kovya is on my side again, but what an intrigue!” 

“In which you came off victor, however. Oh, you're a 
Bismarck !”’ 

“Without being a Bismarck I’m equal to seeing through 
falseness and stupidity wherever I meet it. The Lembke’s 
falseness, and Praskovya’s folly. I don’t know when I’ve met 
such a flabby woman, and what’s more her legs are swollen, and 
she’s a good-natured simpleton, too. What can be more foolish 
than a good-natured simpleton ? ” 

‘A spiteful fool, ma bonne amie, a spiteful fool is still more 
foolish,’ Stepan Trofimovitch protested magnanimously. 

“You're right, perhaps. Do you remember Liza ?”’ 

“ Charmante enfant !” 

** But she’s not an enfant now, but a woman, and a woman of 
character. She’s a generous, passionate creature, and what [ 
like about her, she stands up to that confiding fool, her mother. 
There was almost a row over that cousin.” | 
‘“‘ Bah, and of course he’s no relation of Lizaveta Nikolaevna’s 
atall.... Has he designs on her ? ” 

You see, he’s a young officer, not by any means talkative, 
modest in fact. I always want to be just. I fancy he is opposed 
to the intrigue himself, and isn’t aiming at anything, and it was 
only the Von Lembke’s tricks. He had a great respect for 
_ Nicolas. You understand, it all depends on Liza. But I left 
her on the best of terms with Nicolas. and he promised he would 


52 THE POSSESSED 


come to us in November. So it’s only the Von Lembke who 
is intriguing, and. Praskovya is a blind woman. She suddenly 
tells me that all my suspicions are fancy. I told her to her face 
she was a fool. I am ready to repeat it at the day of judgment. 
And if it hadn’t been for Nicolas begging me to leave it for a time, 
I wouldn’t have come away without unmasking that false 
woman. She’s been trying to ingratiate herself with Count K. 
through Nicolas. She wants to come between mother and son. 
But Liza’s on our side, and I came to an understanding with 
Praskovya. Do you know that Karmazinovis a relation of hers ?”’ 

“What? A relation of Madame von Lembke ?” 

‘* Yes, of hers. Distant.” 

‘‘ Karmazinov, the novelist ? ”’ 

“Yes, the writer. Why does it surprise you ? Of course he 
considers himself a great man. Stuck-up creature!  She’s 
coming here with him. Now she’s making a fuss of him out 
there. She’s got a notion of setting up a sort of literary society 
here. Ife’s coming for a month, he wants to sell his last piece 
of property here. I very nearly met him in Switzerland, and was 
very anxious not to. Though I hope he will deign to recognise 
me. He wrote letters to me in the old days, he has been in my 
house. I should like you to dress better, Stepan Trofimovitch ; 
you’re growing more slovenly every day. ... Oh, how you 
torment me! What are you reading now ?” 

ODT SOLE ODT 

“T understand. ‘The same as ever, friends and drinking, the 
elub and cards, and the reputation of an atheist. I don’t like 
that reputation, Stepan Trofimovitch ; I don’t care for you to be 
called an atheist, particularly now. I didn’t care for it in old days, 
for it’s all nothing but empty chatter. It must be said at last.’’ 

‘“* Mais, ma chére...” 

“Listen, Stepan Trofimovitch, of course I’m ignorant com- 
pared with you on all learned subjects, but as I was travelling 
here I thought a great deal about you. I’ve come to one conclu- 
sion.” 

‘“ What conclusion ? ”’ 

“That you and I are not the wisest people in the world, but 
that there are people wiser than we are.” 

‘ Witty and apt. If there are people wiser than we are, then 
there are people more right than we are, and we may be mistaken, 
you mean? Mais, ma bonne amie, granted that I may make a 
mistake, yet have I not the common, human, eternal, supreme 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 53 


right of freedom of conscience? Ihave the right not to be bigoted 
or superstitious if I don’t wish to, and for that I shall naturally 
be hated by certain persons to the end of time. Ht puis, comme 
on trouve toujours plus de moines que de raison, and as I thoroughly 
agree with that...” 

“What, what did you say ?”’ 

“T said, on trouve toujours plus de moines que de raison, and as 
I thoroughly .. .” 

“Tm sure that’s not your saying. You must have taken it from 
somewhere.” | 

“It was Pascal said that.” 

“ Just as I thought . . . it’s not your own. Why don’t you 
ever say anything like that yourself, so shortly and to the point, 
instead of dragging things out to such a length? That’s much 
better than what you said just now about administrative 
ardour. ..” 

“ Ma foi, chére... why? In the first place probably 
because I’m not a Pascal after all, ed puis... secondly, we 
Russians never can say anything in our own language.... 
We never have said anything hitherto, at any rate... .” 

“Hm!  That’s not true, perhaps. Anyway, you'd better 
make a note of such phrases, and remember them, you know, in 
case you have to talk. ... Ach, Stephan Trofimovitch. IL 
have come to talk to you seriously, quite seriously.” 

*“‘ Chere, chére amie !”’ 


‘* Now that all these Von Lembkes and Karmazinovs... 
Oh, my goodness, how you have deteriorated! ... Oh, 
my goodness, how you do torment me!... I should 


have liked these people to feel a respect for you, for they re 
not worth your little finger—but the way you behave!... 
What will they see? What shallI have to show them ? Instead 
of nobly standing as an example, keeping up the tradition of the 
past, you surround yourself with a wretched rabble, you have 
_ picked up impossible habits, you’ve grown feeble, you can’t clo 
_ without wine and cards, you read nothing but Paul de Kock, 
and write nothing, while all of them write; all your time’s wasted 
in gossip. How can you bring yourself to be friends with a. 
wretched creature like your inseparable Liputin ? 

“Why is he mine and inseparable?” Stepan Trofimovitch 
protested timidly. 
_“ Where is he now 3” Varvara Petrovna went on, sharply and 
sternly. 


54 THE POSSESSED 


“He ... he has an infinite respect for you, and he’s gone to 
k, to receive an inheritance left him by his mother.” 

‘He seems to do nothing but get money. And how’s Shatov ? 
Is he just the same ? ”’ 

“ Trascible, mais bon.” 

““T can’t endure your Shatov. He’sspiteful and he thinks too 
much of himself.”’ 

‘How is Darya Pavlovna ?”’ 

‘“You mean Dasha? What made you think of her?” Var- 
vara Petrovna looked at him inquisitively. ‘“‘ She’s quite well. 
I left her with the Drozdovs. I heard something about your 
son in Switzerland. Nothing good.” 

** Oh, cest un histoire bien béte! Je vous attendais, ma bonne 
amie, pour vous raconter...” 

“Enough, Stepan Trofimovitch. Leave me in peace. I’m 
worn out. We shall have time to talk to our heart’s content, 
especially of what’s unpleasant. You’ve begun to splutter when 
you laugh, it’s a sign of senility! And what a strange way of 
laughing you’ve taken to! ... Good Heavens, what a lot of 
bad habits you’ve fallen into! Karmazinov won’t come and 
see you! And people are only too glad to make the most of 
anything asitis. .. . You’ve betrayed yourself completely now. 
Well, come, that’s enough, that’s enough, I’m tired. You really 
might have mercy upon one!” 

Stepan Trofimovitch ‘‘ had mercy,’’ but he withdrew in great 
perturbation. 


5S 





V 


Our friend certainly had fallen into not a few bad habits, 
especially of late. He had obviously and rapidly deteriorated ; 
and it was true that he had become slovenly. He drank more 
and had become more tearful and nervous; and had grown too 
impressionable on the artistic side. His face had acquired a 
strange facility for changing with extraordinary quickness, from 
the most solemn expression, for instance, to the most absurd, 
and even foolish. He could not endure solitude, and was always 
craving for amusement. One had always to repeat to him some 
gossip, some local anecdote, and every day a new one. If no — 
one came to see him for a long time he wandered disconsolately 
about the rooms, walked to the window, puckering up his lips, 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 55 


heaved deep sighs, and almost fell to whimpering at last. He 
was always full of forebodings, was afraid of something un- 
expected and inevitable; he had become timorous; he began 
to pay great attention to his dreams. 

He spent all that day and evening in great depression, he sent 
for me, was very much agitated, talked a long while, gave me a 
long account of things, but all rather disconnected. Varvara 
_ Petrovna had known for a long time that he concealed nothing 
from me. It seemed to me at last that he was worried about 
something particular, and was perhaps unable to form a definite 
idea of it himself. As a rule when we met téte-d-téte and he began 
making long complaints to me, a bottle was almost always 
brought in after a little time, and things became much more 
_ comfortable. This time there was no wine, and he was evidently 
struggling all the while against the desire to send for it. 

“And why is she always so cross?” he complained every 
minute, like a child. ‘“‘ Zious les hommes de génie et de progrés 
en Russie étaient, sont, et seront towjours des gamblers et des 
drunkards qui boivent in outbreaks . .. and I’m not such a 
gambler after all, and I’m not such a drunkard. She reproaches 
me for not writing anything. Strange idea! ... She asks 
why I lie down? She says I ought to stand, ‘an example and 
reproach.’ Mais, entre nous soit dit, what is a man to do who is 
destined to stand as a ‘ reproach,’ if not to te down? Does she 
understand that ? ”’ 

And at last it became clear to me what was the chief parti- 
cular trouble which was worrying him so persistently at this 
time. Many times that evening he went to the looking-glass, 
and stood a long while before it. At last he turned from the 
looking-glass to me, and with a sort of strange despair, said : 

‘“ Mon cher, je suis un broken-down man.” 

Yes, certainly, up to that time, up to that very day there was 
one thing only of which he had always felt confident in spite of 
the “‘new views,” and of the “change in Varvara Petrovna’s 
ideas,’ that was, the conviction that still he had a fascination 
for her feminine heart. not simply as an exile or a celebrated man 
of learning, but as a handsome man. For twenty years this 
soothing and flattering opinion had been rooted in his mind, and 
perhaps of all his convictions this was the hardest to part with. 
Had he any presentiment that evening of the colossal ordeal 
which was preparing for him in the immediate future ¢ 


56 THE POSSESSED 


VI 


I will now enter upon the description of that almost forgotten 
incident with which my story properly speaking begins. 

At last at the very end of August the Drozdovs returned. 
Their arrival made a considerable sensation in local society, and 
took place shortly before their relation, our new governor’s wife, 
made her long-expected appearance. But of all these interesting 
events I will speak later. For the present I will confine myself 
to saying that Praskovya Ivanovna brought Varvara Petrovna, 
who was expecting her so impatiently, a most perplexing problem : 
Nikolay had parted from them in July, and, meeting Count K. 
on the Rhine, had set off with him and his family for Petersburg. 
(N.B.—The Count’s three daughters were all of marriageable age.) 
_ “ Lizaveta is so proud and obstinate that I could get nothing 
out of her,’’ Praskovya Ivanovna said in conclusion. ‘‘ But I saw 
for myself that something had happened between her and 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. I don’t know the reasons, but I 
fancy, my dear Varvara Petrovna, that you will have to ask 
your ‘Darya Pavlovna for them. To my thinking Liza was 
offended. I’m glad. I can tell you that I’ve brought you back 
your favourite at last and handed her over to you; it’s a weight 
off my mind.” 

‘These venomous words were uttered with remarkable irrita- 
bility. It was evident that the “‘ flabby ” woman had prepared 
them and gloated beforehand over the effect they would produce. 
But Varvara Petrovna was not the woman to'be disconcerted by 
sentimental effects and enigmas. She sternly demanded the 
most precise and satisfactory explanations. Praskovya lvanovna 
immediately lowered her tone and even ended by dissolving into 
tears and expressions of the warmest friendship. This irritable 
but sentimental lady, like Stepan Trofimovitch, was for ever 
yearning for true friendship, and her chief complaint against her 
daughter Lizaveta Nikolaevna was just that “‘ her daughter was 
not a friend to her.” 

But from all her explanations and seidgperetelaes nothing certain 
could be gathered but that there actually had been some sort of 
quarrel between Liza and Nikolay, but of the nature of the 
quarrel Praskovya Ivanovna was obviously unable to form a 
definite idea. As for her imputations against Darya Pavlovna 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING BT 


she not only withdrew them completely in the end, but even 
particularly begged Varvara Petrovna to pay no attention 
to her words, because “‘ they had been said in irritation.” In fact, 
it had all been left very far from clear—suspicious, indeed. Accord- 
ing to her account the quarrel had arisen from Liza’s “ obstinate 
and ironical character.”  “‘ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch is proud, too, 
and though he was very much in love, yet he could not endure 
sarcasm, and began to be sarcastic himself. Soon afterwards 
we made the acquaintance of a young man, the nephew, 
I believe, of your * Professor’ and, indeed, the surname’s the 
same.” 

“The son, not the nephew,” Varvara Petrovna corrected her. 

Even in old days Praskovya Ivanovna had been always unable 
_ torecall Stepan Trofimovitch’s name, and had always called him 
the “‘ Professor.”’ 

*“ Well, his son, then; so much the better. Of course, it’s all 
the same to me. An ordinary young man, very lively and free 
in his manners, but nothing special in him. Well, then, Liza 
herself did wrong, she made friends with the young man with the 
idea of making Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch jealous. I don’t see 
much harm in that; it’s the way of girls, quite usual, even 
charming in them. Only instead of being jealous Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch made friends with the young man himself, 
just as though he saw nothing and didn’t care. This made Liza 
furious. The young man soon went away (he was in a great hurry 
to get somewhere) and Liza took to picking quarrels with Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch at every opportunity. She noticed that he used 
sometimes to talk to Dasha; and, well, she got in such a frantic 
state that even my life wasn’t worth living, my dear. The doctors 
have forbidden my being irritated, and I was so sick of their lake 
they make such a fuss about, it simply gave me toothache, I had 
such rheumatism. It’s stated in print that the Lake of Geneva 
does give people the toothache. It’s a feature of the place. Then 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch suddenly got a letter from the countess 
and he left us at once. He packed up in one day. They parted in 
a friendly way, and Liza became very cheerful and frivolous, and 
laughed a great deal seeing him off; only that was all put on. 
When he had gone she became very thoughtful, and she gave up 
speaking of him altogether and wouldn’t let me mention his name. 
And I should advise you, dear Varvara Petrovna, not to approach 
the subject with Liza, you’ll only do harm. But if you hold your 
tongue she'll begin to talk of it herself, and then you'll learn 


58 THE POSSESSED 


more. I believe they'll come together again, if only Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch doesn’t put off coming, as he promised.” 

‘‘T’ll write to him at once. If that’s how it was, there was 
nothing in the quarrel; all nonsense! And I know Darya too 
well. It’s nonsense !”’ 

‘“T’m sorry for what I said about Dashenka, I did wrong. 
Their conversations were quite ordinary and they talked out 
loud, too. But it all upset me so much at the time, my dear. 
And Liza, I saw, got on with her again as affectionately as 
before) yisicr's/! 

That very day Varvara Petrovna wrote to Nikolay, and begged 
him to come, if only one month, earlier than the date he had fixed. 
But yet she still felt that there was something unexplained and 
obscure in the matter. She pondered over it all the evening and 
all night. Praskovya’s opinion seemed to her too innocent and 
sentimental. ‘‘ Praskovya has always been too sentimental from 
the old schooldays upwards,”’ she reflected. ‘‘ Nicolas is not 
the man to run away from a girl’s taunts. There’s some other 
reason for it, if there really has been a breach between them. 
That officer’s here though, they've brought him with them. 
As a relation he lives in their house. And, as for Darya, Pras- 
kovya was in too much haste to apologise. She must have kept 
something to herself, which she wouldn’t tell me.” 

By the morning Varvara Petrovna had matured a project 
for putting a stop once for all to one misunderstanding at least ; 
a project amazing in its unexpectedness. What was in her heart 
when she conceived it ? It would be hard to decide and I will 
not undertake to explain beforehand all the incongruities of 
which it was made up. I simply confine myself as chronicler to 
recording events precisely as they happened, and it is not my 
fault if they seem incredible. Yet I must once more testify that 
by the morning there was not the least suspicion of Dasha left in 
Varvara Petrovna’s mind, though in reality there never had 
been any—she had too much confidence in her. Besides, she 
could not admit the idea that ‘‘ Nicolas”’ could be attracted by 
her Darya. Next morning when Darya Pavlovna was pouring 
out tea at the table Varvara Petrovna looked for a long while 
intently at her and, perhaps for the twentieth time since the 
previous day, repeated to herself: ‘‘ It’s all nonsense! ” 

All she noticed was that Dasha looked rather tired, and that 
she was even quieter and more apathetic than she used to be. 
After their morning tea, according to their invariable custom, 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 59 


they sat down to needlework. Varvara Petrovna demanded from 
her a full account of her impressions abroad, especially of nature, 
of the inhabitants, of the towns, the customs, their arts and 
commerce—of everything she had time to observe. She asked 
no questions about the Drozdovs or how she had got on with 
them. Dasha, sitting beside her at the work-table helping her 
with the embroidery, talked for half an hour in her even, mono- 
tonous, but rather weak voice. 

“Darya!” Varvara Petrovna interrupted suddenly, “‘is 
there nothing special you want to tell me?” 

“No, nothing,’ said Dasha, after a moment’s thought, 
and she glanced at Varvara Petrovna with her light-coloured 
eyes. 

‘Nothing on your soul, on your heart, or your conscience ?” 

“Nothing,” Dasha repeated, quietly, but with a sort of 
sullen firmness. 

“1 knew there wasn’t! Believe me, Darya, I shall never 
doubt you. Now sit stilland listen. In front of me, on that chair. 
I want to see the whole of you. That’s right. Listen, do you 
want to be married ? ”’ 

Dasha responded with a long, inquiring, but not greatly 
astonished look. 

“Stay, hold your tongue. In the first place there is a very 
great difference in age, but of course you know better than anyone 
what nonsense that is. You're a sensible girl, and there must be 
no mistakes in your life. Besides, he’s still a handsome man. . 
In short, Stepan Trofimovitch, for whom you have always had 
such a respect. Well ?” 

Dasha looked at her still more inquiringly, and this time not 
simply with surprise; she blushed perceptibly. 

‘“‘ Stay, hold your tongue, don’t be in a hurry! Though you 
will have money under my will, yet when I die, what will become 
of you, even if you have money ? You'll be deceived and robbed 
of your money, you'll be lost in fact. But married to him you're 
the wife of a distinguished man. Look at him on the other hand. 
Though I’ve provided for him, if I die what will become of him ? 
But I could trust him to you. Stay, I’ve not finished. He’s 
frivolous, shilly-shally, cruel, egoistic, he has low habits. But 
mind you think highly of him, in the first place because there are 
many worse. I don’t want to get you off my hands by marrying 
you to a rascal, you don’t imagine anything of that sort, do you ! 
And, above all, because I ask you, you’ll think highly of him.” 


60 THE POSSESSED 


She broke off suddenly and irritably. “‘ Do you hear? Why 
won't you say something ?”’ 

Dasha still listened and did not speak. 

“Stay, wait a little. He’s an old woman, but you know, that’s 
all the better for you. Besides, he’s a pathetic old woman. He 
doesn’t deserve to be loved by a woman at all, but he deserves 
to be loved for his helplessness, and you must love him for his 
helplessness. You understand me, don’t you? Do you under- 
stand me?” 

Dasha nodded her head affirmatively. 

*“T knew you would. I expected as much of you. He will love 
you because he ought, he ought; he ought to adore you.’ 
Varvara Petrovna almost shrieked with peculiar exasperation. 
“* Besides, he will be in love with you without any ought about 
it. I know him. And another thing, I shall always be here. 
You may besureI shall always be here. He will complain of you, 
he’ll begin to say things against you behind your back, he’ll 
whisper things against you to any stray person he meets, he'll 
be for ever whining and whining; he’ll write you letters from 
one room to another, two a day, but he won’t be able to get on 
without you all the same, and that’s the chief thing. Make him 
obey you. If you can’t make him you'll be a fool. He'll want 
to hang himself and threaten to—don’t you believe it. It’s 
nothing but nonsense. Don’t believe it; but still keep a sharp 
look-out, you never can tell, and one day he may hang himself. 
It does happen with people like that. It’s not through strength of 
will but through weakness that people hang themselves, and so 
never drive him to an extreme, that’s the first rule in married life. 
Remember, too, that he’s a poet. Listen, Dasha, there’s no 
greater happiness than self-sacrifice. | And besides, you'll be 
giving me great satisfaction and that’s the chief thing. Don’t 
think [ve been talking nonsense. I understand what I’m 
saying. I’m an egoist, you be an egoist, too. Of course I’m not 
forcing you. It’s entirely for you to decide. As you say, so it 
shall be. Well, what’s the good of sitting like this. Speak !”’ 

‘¢ [ don’t mind, Varvara Petrovna, if I really must be married,” 
said Dasha firmly. 

‘* Must ?. What are you hinting at?” Varvara Petrovna 
looked sternly and intently at her. 

Dasha was silent, picking at her embroidery canvas with her 
needle. 

‘‘ Though you're a clever girl, you’re talking nonsense ; though 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 61 


it is true that I have certainly set my heart on marrying you, yet 
it’s not because it’s necessary, but simply because the idea has 
occurred to me, and only to Stepan Trofimovitch. If it had not 
been for Stepan Trofimovitch, I should not have thought of 
marrying you yet, though you are twenty.... Well?” 

“Vll do as you wish, Varvara Petrovna.” 

“Then you consent! Stay, be quiet. Why are you in such a 
hurry ? I haven’t finished. In my will I’ve left you fifteen 
thousand roubles. Ill give you that at once, on your wedding- 
day. You will give eight thousand of it to him; that is, not to 
him but to me. He has a debt of eight thousand. I’ll pay it, 
but he must know that it is done with your money. You'll 
have seven thousand left in your hands. Never let him touch 
a farthing of it. Don’t pay hisdebtsever. If once you pay them, 
you'll never be free of them. Besides, I shall always be here. 
You shall have twelve hundred roubles a year from me, with 
extras, fifteen hundred, besides board and lodging, which shall be 
at my expense, just as he hasit now. Only you must set up your 
own servants. Your yearly allowance shall be paid to you all at 
once straight into your hands. But be kind, and sometimes give 
him something, and let his friends come to see him once a week, 
but if they come more often, turn them out. But I shall be here, 
too. And if I die, your pension will go on till his death, do you 
hear, till Ais death, for it’s his pension, not yours. And besides 
the seven thousand you'll have now, which you ought to keep 
untouched if you’re not foolish, Pll leave you another eight 
thousand in my will. And you’ll get nothing more than that 
from me, it’s right that you should know it. Come, you consent, 
eh ? Will you say something at last ? ”’ 

“‘T have told you already, Varvara Petrovna.” 

‘‘ Remember that you’re free to decide. As you like, so it 
shall be.” 

“Then, may I ask, Varvara Petrovna, has Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch said anything yet ?” 

‘No, he hasn’t said anything, he doesn’t know . . . but he 
will speak directly.” . 

She jumped up at once and threw on a black shawl. Dasha 
tiushed a little again, and watched her with questioning eyes. 
Varvara Petrovna turned suddenly to her with a face flaming 
with anger. 

‘“‘ You’reafool!’’ She swooped down on her likeahawk. ‘“ An 
ungrateful fool! What’sin your mind? Can you imagine that 


62 THE POSSESSED 


I’d compromise you, in any way, in the smallest degree. Why, 
he shall crawl on his knees to ask you, he must be dying of 
happiness, that’s how it shall be arranged. Why, you know that 
I’d never let you suffer. Or do you suppose he’ll take you-for 
the sake of that eight thousand, and that I’m hurrying off to sell 
you? You're a fool, afool! You're all ungrateful fools. Give 
me my umbrella !”’ 

And she flew off to walk by the wet brick pavements and the 
wooden planks to Stepan Trofimovitch’s. 


Vil 


It was true that she would never have let Dasha suffer ; on the 
contrary, she considered now that she was acting as her bene- 
factress. The most generous and legitimate indignation was 
glowing in her soul, when, as she put on her shawl, she caught 
fixed upon her the embarrassed and mistrustful eyes of her 
protégée. She had genuinely loved the girl from her childhood 
upwards. Praskovya Ivanovna had with justice called Darya 
Pavlovna her favourite. Long ago Varvara Petrovna had made 
up her mind once for all that ‘‘ Darya’s disposition was not like 
her brother’s’”’ (not, that is, like Ivan Shatov’s), that she was — 
quiet and gentle, and capable of great self-sacrifice ; that she 
was distinguished by a power of devotion, unusual modesty, 
rare reasonableness, and, above ail, by gratitude. Till that 
time Dasha had, to all appearances, completely justified her 
expectations. | 

‘* In that life there will be no mistakes,” said Varvara Petrovna 
when the girl was only twelve years old, and as it was charac- 
teristic of her to attach herself doggedly and passionately to any 
dream that fascinated her, any new design, any idea that struck 
her as noble, she made up her mind at once to educate Dasha as 
though she were her own daughter. She at once set aside a sum 
of money for her, and sent for a governess, Miss Criggs, who 
lived with them until the girl was sixteen, but she was for some 
reason suddenly dismissed. Teachers came for her from the 
High School, among them a real Frenchman, who taught Dasha 
French. He, too, was suddenly dismissed, almost turned out of 
the house. A poor lady, a widow of good family, taught her to 
play the piano. Yet her chief tutor was Stepan Trofimovitch, 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 63 


In reality he first discovered Dasha. He began teaching the quiet. 
child even before Varvara Petrovna had begun to think about 
her. I repeat again, it was wonderful how children took to him. 
Lizaveta Nikolaevna Tushin had been taught by him from the 
age of eight till eleven (Stepan Trofimovitch took no fees, of 
course, for his lessons, and would not on any account have taken 
payment from the Drozdovs). But he fell in love with the 
charming child and used to tell her poems of a sort about the 
creation of the world, about the earth, and the history of 
humanity. His lectures about the primitive peoples and primitive 
man were more interesting than the Arabian Nights. Liza, who 
was ecstatic over these stories, used to mimic Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch very funnily at home. He heard of this and once peeped 
_ in on her unawares. Liza, overcome with confusion, flung herself 
into his arms and shed tears; Stepan Trofimovitch wept too 
with delight. But Liza soon after went away, and only Dasha 
was left. When Dasha began to have other teachers, Stepan 
Trofimovitch gave up his lessons with her, and by degrees left 
off noticing her. Things went on like this for a long time. 
Once when she was seventeen he was struck by her prettiness. 
It happened at Varvara Petrovna’s table. He began to talk to 
the young girl, was much pleased with her answers, and ended by 
offering to give her a serious and comprehensive course of lessons 
on the history of Russian literature. Varvara Petrovna approved, 
and thanked him for his excellent idea, and Dasha was delighted. 
Stepan Trofimovitch proceeded to make special preparations for 
the lectures, and at last they began. They began with the most 
ancient period. The first lecture went off enchantingly. Varvara 
Petrovna was present. When Stepan Trofimovitch had finished, 
and as he was going informed his pupil that the next time he would 
deal with ‘‘The Story of the Expedition of Igor,” Varvara 
Petrovna suddenly got up and announced that there would be 
no more lessons. Stepan Trofimovitch winced, but said nothing, 
and Dasha flushed crimson. It put a stop to the scheme, 
however. This had happened just three years before Varvara 
Petrovna’s unexpected fancy. 

Poor Stepan Trofimovitch was sitting alone free from all mis- 
givings. Plunged in mournful reveries he had for some time been 
looking out of the window to see whether any of his friends were 
coming. But nobody would come. It was drizzling. It was 
turning cold, he would have to have the stove heated. He 
sighed. Suddenly a terrible apparition flashed upon his eyes : 


64 THE POSSESSED 


Varvara Petrovna in such weather and at such an unexpected 
hour to see him! And on foot! He was so astounded that 
he forgot to put on his coat, and received her as he was, in his 
everlasting pink-wadded dressing-jacket. 

‘“ Ma bonne amie /”’ he cried faintly, to greet her. . 

“Yowre alone; I’m glad; I can’t endure your friends, 
How you do smoke! Heavens, what an atmosphere! You 
haven't finished your morning tea and it’s nearly twelve o’clock. 
It’s your idea of bliss—disorder! You take pleasure in dirt. 
What’s that torn paper on the floor? Nastasya, Nastasya! 
What is your Nastasya about ? Open the window, the casement, 
the doors, fling everything wide open. And we'll go into the 
drawing-room. I’ve come to you on a matter of importance. 
And you sweep up, my good woman, for once in your hfesif 

“They make such a muck!” Nastasya whined in a voice of 
plaintive exasperation. 

“Well, you must sweep, sweep it up fifteen times a pet 
You’ve a wretched drawing-room ”’ (when they had gone into the 
drawing-room). ‘‘ Shut the door properly. She'll be listening. 
You must have it repapered. Didn’t I send a paperhanger to 
you with patterns ? Why didn’t youchoose one? Sit down, and 
listen. Do sit down, I beg you. Where are you off to? Where 
are you off to? Where are you off to ? 

“Tl be back directly,” Stepan Trofimovitch cried from the 
next room. “ Here, I am again.” 

“Ah, you've changed your coat.’ She scanned him 
mockingly. (He had flung his coat on over the dressing-jacket.) 
‘“‘ Well, certainly that’s more suited to our subject. Do sit down, 
I entreat you.” 

She told him everything at once, abruptly and impressively. 
She hinted at the eight thousand of which he stood in such terrible 
need. She told him in detail of the dowry. Stepan Trofimovitch 
sat trembling, opening his eyes wider and wider. He heard it all, 
but he could not realise it clearly. He tried to speak, but his 
voice kept breaking. ~All he knew was that everything would be 
as she said, that to protest and refuse to agree would be useless, 
and that he was a married man irrevocably. 

‘“ Mais, ma bonne ame! ... for the third time, and at my 
age ... and to such a child.” He brought out at last, “Mais, 
cest une enfant !’ 

‘‘ A child who is twenty years old, thank God. Please don’t 
roll your eyes, I entreat you, you’re not on the stage. You're 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 65 


very clever and learned, but you know nothing at all about life. 
You will always want a nurse to look after you. I shall die, and 
what will become of you ? She will be a good nurse to you; she’s 
a modest girl, strong-willed, reasonable ; besides, I shall be here 
too, I shan’t die directly. She’s fond of home, she’s an angel of 
gentleness. This happy thought came to me in Switzerland. 
Do you understand if I tell you myself that she is an angel of 
gentleness! ’’ she screamed with sudden fury. ‘‘ Your house is 
dirty, she will bring in order, cleanliness. Everything will shine 
like a mirror. Good gracious, do you expect me to go on my 
knees to you with such a treasure, to enumerate all the advan- 
tages, tocourt you! Why, you ought to be on your knees... . 
Oh, you shallow, shallow, faint-hearted man !”’ 

“But... Pm an old man!” 

“What do your fifty-three years matter! Fifty is the middle 
of life, not the end of it. You are a handsome man and you know 
it yourself. You know, too, what a respect she has for you. If 
I die, what will become of her? But married to you she’ll be at 
peace, and I shall be at peace. You have renown, a name, 
a loving heart. You receive a pension which I look upon as an 
obligation. You will save her perhaps, you will save her! In 
any case you will be doing her an honour. You will form her 
for life, you will develop her heart, you will direct her ideas. 
How many people come to grief nowadays because their ideas are 
wrongly directed. By that time your book will be ready, and you 
will at once set people talking about you again.”’ 

“T am, in fact,’’ he muttered, at once flattered by Varvara 
Petrovna’s adroit insinuations. ‘“‘I was just preparing to sit 
down to my ‘ Tales from Spanish History.’ ” 

“Well, there you are. It’s just come right.”’ 

“ But ... she? Have you spoken to her?” 

“Don’t worry about her. And there’s no need for you to be 
inquisitive. Of course, you must ask her yourself, entreat her 
to do you the honour, you understand ? But don’t be uneasy. 1 
shall be here. Besides, you love her.”’ 

Stepan Trofimovitch felt giddy. The walls were going round. 
There was one terrible idea underlying this to which he could 
not reconcile himself. 


 Bxcellente amie,’ his voice quivered suddenly. “I could 
never have conceived that you would make up your mind to 
give me in marriage to another . . . woman.” 


“You're not a girl, Stepan Trofimovitch. Only girls are given 
E 


66 THE POSSESSED 


in marriage. You are taking a wife,” Varvara Petrovna hissed 
malignantly. 

‘* Oui, jai pris un mot pour un autre. Mais cest égal.” He 
gazed at her with a hopeless air. 

‘“‘T see that c’est égal,” she muttered contemptuously through 
her teeth. “ Good heavens! Why he’s going tofaint. Nastasya, 
Nastasya, water !” | | 

But water was not needed. He came to himself. Varvara 
Petrovna took up her umbrella. 

‘‘T see it’s no use talking to you now. ... 

“Out, oui, je surs incapable.” 

** But by to-morrow you'll have rested and thought it over. 
Stay at home. If anything happens let me know, even if it’s at 
night. Don’t write letters, I shan’t read them. To-morrow I'll 
come again at this time alone, for a final answer, and I trust it 
will be satisfactory. Try to have nobody here and no untidiness, 
for the place isn’t fit to be seen. Nastasya, Nastasya!”’ 

The next day, of course, he consented; and, indeed, he could 
do nothing else. There was one circumstance .. . 


39 


Vill 


Stepan Trofimovitch’s estate, as we used to call it (which 
consisted of fifty souls, reckoning in the old fashion, and bordered 
on Skvoreshniki), was not really his at all, but his first wife’s, 
and so belonged now to his son Pyotr Stepanovitch Ver- 
hovensky. Stepan Trofimovitch was simply his trustee, and so, 
when the nestling was full-fledged, he had given his father a 
formal authorisation to manage the estate. This transaction was 
a profitable one for the young man. He received as much as 
a thousand roubles a year by way of revenue from the estate, 
though under the new régime it could not have yielded more than 
five hundred, and possibly not that. God knows how such an 
arrangement had arisen. The whole sum, however, was sent the 
young man by Varvara Petrovna, and Stepan Trofimovitch had 
nothing to do with a single rouble of it. On the other hand, the 
whole revenue from the land remained in his pocket, and he had, 
besides, completely ruined the estate, letting it to.a mercenary 
rogue, and without the knewledge of Varvara Petrovna selling — 
the timber which gave the estate its chief value. He had some 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 67 


time before sold the woods bit by bit. It was worth at least 
eight thousand, yet he had only received five thousand for it. 
But he sometimes lost too much at the club, and was afraid to ask 
Varvara Petrovna for the money.. She clenched her teeth when 
she heard at last of everything. And now, all at once, his son 
announced that he was coming himself to sell his property for 
what he could get for it, and commissioned his father to take 
steps promptly to arrange the sale. It was clear that Stepan 
Trofimovitch, being a generous and disinterested man, felt 
ashamed of his treatment of ce cher enfant (whom he had seen for 
the last time nine years before as a student in Petersburg). The 
estate might originally have been worth thirteen or fourteen 
thousand. Now it was doubtful whether anyone would give five 
for it. No doubt Stepan Trofimovitch was fully entitled by the 
terms of the trust to sell the wood, and taking into account the 
incredibly large yearly revenue of a. thousand roubles which had 
been sent punctually for so many years, he could have put up 
a good defence of his management. But Stepan Trofimovitch 
was a generous man of exalted impulses. A wonderfully fine 
inspiration occurred to his mind: when Petrusha returned, to 
lay on the table before him the maximum price of fifteen thousand 
roubles without a hint at the sums that had been sent him 
hitherto, and warmly and with tears to press ce cher fils to his 
heart, and so to make an end of all accounts between them. 
He began cautiously and indirectly unfolding this picture before 
Varvara Petrovna. He hinted that this would add a peculiarly 
noble note to their friendship .. . to their “‘idea.”” This would 
set the parents of the last generation—and people of the last 
generation generally—in such a disinterested and magnanimous 
light in comparison with the new frivolous and socialistic younger 
generation. He said a great deal more, but Varvara Petrovna 
was obstinately silent. At last she informed him airily that she 
was prepared to buy their estate, and to pay for it the maximum 
price, that is, six or seven thousand (though four would have been 
a fair price for it). Of the remaining eight thousand which had 
- Vanished with the woods she said not a word. 

This conversation took place a month before the match was. 
proposed to him. Stepan Trofimovitch was overwhelmed, and 
began to ponder. There might in the past have been a hope 
that his son would not come, after all—an outsider, that is to say, 
Might have hoped so. Stepan Trofimovitch as a father would 
have indignantly rejected the insinuation that he could entertain 


68 THE POSSESSED 


such a hope. Anyway queer rumours had hitherto been 
reaching us about Petrusha. To begin with, on completing his 
studies at the university six years before, he had hung about 
in Petersburg without getting work. Suddenly we got the 
news that he had taken part in issuing some anonymous 
manifesto and that he was implicated in the affair. Then he 
suddenly turned up abroad in Switzerland at Geneva—he had 
escaped, very likely. 

“It’s surprising to me,’ Stepan Trofimovitch commented, 
greatly disconcerted. ‘‘ Petrusha, c’est une si pauvre téte! He’s 
good, noble-hearted, very sensitive, and I was so delighted with 
him in Petersburg, comparing him with the young people of to-day. 
Butc’est un pauvre sire, tout de méme. . . . And you know itall 
comes from that same half-bakedness, that sentimentality. They 
are fascinated, not by realism, but by the emotional ideal side of 
socialism, by the religious note in it, so to say, by the poetry of 
it . . . second-hand, of course. And for me, for me, think 
what it means! I have so many enemies here and morestill 
there, they'll put it down to the father’s influence. Good God! 
Petrusha a revolutionist ! What times we live in!” 

Very soon, however, Petrusha sent his exact address from 
Switzerland for money to be sent him as usual; so he could not 
be exactly an exile. And now, after four years abroad, he was 
suddenly making his appearance again in his own country, and an- 
nounced that he would arrive shortly, so there could be no charge 
against him. What was more, some one seemed to be interested in 
him and protecting him. He wrote now from the south of Russia, 
where he was busily engaged in some private but important 
business. All this was capital, but where was his father to get 
that other seven or eight thousand, to make up a suitable price 
for the estate? And what if there should be an outcry, and 
instead of that imposing picture it should come to a lawsuit ? 
Something told Stepan Trofimovitch that the sensitive Petrusha 
would not relinquish anything that was to his interest. ‘“ Why is 
it—as I’ve noticed,’ Stepan Trofimovitch whispered to me once, 
“why is it that all these desperate socialists and communists 
are at the same time such incredible skinflints, so avaricious, 
so keen over property, and, in fact, the more social- 
‘istic, the more extreme they are, the keener they are over 
property ... why is it? Can that, too, come from senti- . 
‘mentalism ?”’ I don’t know whether there is any truth in this 
observation of Stepan Trofimovitch’s. I only know that Petrusha 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 69 


had somehow got wind of the sale of the woods and the rest of it, 
and that Stepan Trofimovitch was aware of the fact. I happened, 
too, to read some of Petrusha’s letters to his father. He wrote 
extremely rarely, once a year, or even less often. Only recently, 
to inform him of his approaching visit, he had sent two letters, 
one almost immediately after the other. All his letters were short, 
dry, consisting only of instructions, and as the father and son 
had, since their meeting in Petersburg, adopted the fashionable 
“thou’”’ and “thee,’’ Petrusha’s letters had a striking resem- 
blance to the missives that used to be sent by landowners of 
the old school from the town to their serfs whom they had left in 
charge of their estates. And now suddenly this eight thousand 
which would solve the difficulty would be wafted to him by 
_ Varvara Petrovna’s proposition. And at the same time 

she made him distinctly feel that it never could be wafted to 
him from anywhere else. Of course Stepan Trofimovitch 
consented. 

He sent for me directly she had gone and shut himself up for 
the whole day, admitting no one else. He cried, of course, talked 
well and talked a great deal, contradicted himself continually, 
made a casual pun, and was much pleased with it. Then he 
had a slight attack of his ‘‘ summer cholera ’’—everything in 
fact followed the usual course. Then he brought out the portrait 
of his German bride, now twenty years deceased, and began 
plaintively appealing to her: “‘ Will you forgive me?” In 
fact he seemed somehow distracted. Our grief led us to get a 
little drunk. He soon fell into a sweet sleep, however. Next 
morning he tied his cravat in masterly fashion, dressed with 
care, and went frequently to look at himself in the glass. He 
sprinkled his handkerchief with scent, only a slight dash of it, 
however, and as soon as he saw Varvara Petrovna out of the 
window he hurriedly took another handkerchief and hid the 
scented one under the pillow. 

“Excellent !’’ Varvara Petrovna approved, on receiving his 
consent. ‘‘In the first place you show a fine decision, and 
secondly you’ve listened to the voice of reason, to which you 
generally pay so little heed in your private affairs. There's no 
need of haste, however,’ she added, scanning the knot of his 
white tie, ‘‘ for the present say nothing, and I will say nothing. 
It will soon be your birthday ; I will come to see you with her. 
Give us tea in the evening, and please without wine or other 
refreshments, but I’ll arrange it all myself. Invite your friends. 


70 | THE POSSESSED — 


but we’ll make the list together. You can talk to her the day 
before, if necessary. And at your party we won't exactly 
announce it, or make an engagement of any sort, but only hint at 
it, and let-people know without any sort of ceremony. And then 
the wedding a fortnight later, as far as possible without any fuss. 

You two might even go away for a time after the wedding, 
to Moscow, for instance. I'll go with you, too, perhaps. ... 
The chief thing is, keep quiet till then. 

Stepan Trofimovitch was surprised. He tried to falter that he 
could not do like that, that he must talk it over with his bride. 
But Varvara Petrovna flew at him in exasperation. 

‘What for? In the first place it may perhaps come to 
nothing.” 

“Come to nothing!’’ muttered the bridegroom, utterly 
dumbfoundered. 

‘Yes. Dllsee.... But everything shall beas I’ve told you, 
and don’t be uneasy. Ill prepare her myself. There’s really no 
need for you. Everything necessary shall be said and done, and 
there’s no need for you to meddle. Why should you? In what 
character ? Don’t come and don’t write letters. And not a 
sight or sound of you, I beg. I will be silent too.” 

She absolutely refused to explain herself, and went away, 
obviously upset. Stepan Trofimovitch’s excessive readiness 
evidently impressed her. Alas! he was utterly unable to grasp 
his position, and the question had not yet presented itself to him 
from certain other points of view. On the contrary a new note 
was apparent in him, a sort of conquering and jaunty air. He 
swaggered. | 

““{ do like that!” he exclaimed, standing before me, and 
flinging wide hisarms. ‘“‘ Did you hear? She wants to drive me 
to refusing at last. Why, I may lose patience, too, and... 
refuse! ‘Sit still, there’s no need for you to go to her.’ But 
after all, why should I be married? Simply because she’s 
taken an absurd fancy into her heart. But I’m a serious man, 
and I can refuse to submit to the idle whims of a giddy woman ! 
I have duties to my son and . . . and to myself! I’m making 
a sacrifice. Does she realise that ? I have agreed, perhaps, 
because I am weary of life and nothing matters tome. But she 
may exasperate me, and then it will matter. I shall resent it and 


refuse. Ht enfin, le ridicule . . . what will they say at the club ? 


What will . . . what will . . . Liputin say? ‘ Perhaps nothing 


| 
| 


will come of it’—what a thing to say! That beats everything. : 


PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING 71 


That’s really . . . what is one to say to that?... Je suis un 
forcat, un Badinguet, un man pushed to the wall... .” 

And at the same time a sort of capricious complacency, 
something frivolous and playful, could be seen in the midst of 
all these plaintive exclamations. In the evening we drank too 
much again. 


CHAPTER Ii 
THE SINS OF OTHERS 
I 


AxBout a week had passed, and the position had begun to grow 
more complicated. 

I may mention in passing that I suffered a great deal during 
that unhappy week, as I scarcely left the side of my affianced 
friend, in the capacity of his most intimate confidant. What 
weighed upon him most was the feeling of shame, though we saw 
no one all that week, and sat indoors alone. But he was even 
ashamed before me, and so much so that the more he confided to 
me the more vexed he was with me for it. He was so morbidly 
apprehensive that he expected that every one knew about it 
already, the whole town, and was afraid to show himself, not 
only at the club, but even in his circle of friends. He positively 
would not go out to take his constitutional till well after dusk, 
when it was quite dark. 

A week passed and he still did not know whether he were 
betrothed or not, and could not find out fora fact, however much 
he tried. He had not yet seen his future bride, and did not know 
whether she was to be his bride or not; did not, in fact, know 
whether there was anything serious init atall. Varvara Petrovna, 
for some reason, resolutely refused to admit him to her presence. 
In answer to one of his first letters to her (and he wrote 
a great number of them) she begged him plainly to spare her 
all communications with him for a time, because she was very 
busy, and having a great deal of the utmost importance to 
communicate to him she was waiting for a more free moment to 
do so, and that she would let him know in time when he could 
come to see her. She declared she would send back his letters un- 
opened, as they were “‘ simple self-indulgence.”’ I read that letter 
myself—he showed it me. _ | 

Yet all this harshness and indefiniteness were nothing compared 
with his chief anxiety. That anxiety tormented him to the 
utmost and without ceasing. He grew thin and dispirited 
through it. It was something of which he was more ashamed 
than of anything else, and of which he would not on any account 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 73 


speak, even to me; on the contrary, he lied on occasion, and 
shuffled before me like a little boy ; and at the same time he 
sent for me himself every day, could not stay two hours without 
me, needing me as much as air or water. 

Such conduct rather wounded my vanity. I need hardly say 
that I had long ago privately guessed this great secret of his, and 
saw through it completely. It was my firmest conviction at the 
time that the revelation of this secret, this chief anxiety of 
Stepan Trofimovitch’s would not have redounded to his credit, 
and, therefore, as I was still young, I was rather indignant at the 
coarseness of his feelings and the ugliness of some of his suspicions. 
In my warmth—and, I must confess, in my weariness of being 
his confidant—I perhaps blamed him too much. I was so cruel 
as to try and force him to confess it all to me himself, though I 
did recognise that it might be difficult to confess some things. 
He, too, saw through me; that is, he clearly perceived that I saw | 
through him, and that I was angry with him indeed, and he was 
angry with me too for being angry with him and seeing through 
him. My irritation was perhaps petty and stupid; but the un- 
relieved solitude of two friends together is sometimes extremely 
prejudicial to true friendship. From a certain point of view he 
had a very true understanding of some aspects of his position, 
and defined it, indeed, very subtly on those points about which 
he did not think it necessary to be secret. 

*“Oh, how different she was then!” he would sometimes 
say to me about Varvara Petrovna. ‘“* How different she was in 
the old days when we used to talk together. ... Do you 
know that she could talk in those days! Can you believe that 
she had ideas in those days, original ideas! Now, everything 
has changed! She says all that’s only old-fashioned twaddle. 
She despises the past. ... Now she’s like some shopman or 
cashier, she has grown hard-hearted, and she’s always cross. . . .” 

‘‘ Why is she cross now if you are carrying out her orders ?”’ 
I answered. 

He looked at me subtly. 

** Cher amt; if I had not agreed she would have been dread- 
_ fully angry, dread-ful-ly! But yet less than now that I have 
consented.”’ 

He was pleased with this saying of his, and we emptied a bottle 
between us that evening. But that was only for a moment, 
next day he was worse and more ill-humoured than ever. 

But what I was most vexed with him for was that he could 


74 THE POSSESSED 


not bring himself to‘call on the Drozdovs, as he should have done 
on their arrival, to renew the acquaintance of which, so we heard, 
they were themselves desirous, since they kept asking about 
him. It was a source of daily distress to him. He talked of 
Lizaveta Nikolaevna with an ecstasy which I:was at a loss to 
understand. No doubt he remembered in her the child whom 
he had once loved. But besides. that, he imagined for 
some unknown reason that he would at once find in her company 
a solace for his present misery, and even the solution of his more 
serious doubts. He expected to meet in Lizaveta Nikolaevna 
an extraordinary being. And yet he did not go to see her though 
he meant to do so every day. The worst of it was that I was 
desperately anxious to be presented to her and to make her 
acquaintance, and I could look to no one but Stepan Trofimovitch 
to effect this. I was frequently meeting her, in the street of 
course, when she was out riding, wearing a riding-habit and 
mounted on a fine horse, and accompanied by her cousin, so- 
called, a handsome officer, the nephew of the late General 
Drozdov—and these meetings made an extraordinary impression 
on me at the time. My infatuation lasted only a moment, and I 
very soon afterwards recognised the impossibility of my dreams 
myself—but though it was a fleeting impression it was a very real 
one, and so it may well be imagined how indignant I was at the 
time with my poor friend for keeping so obstinately secluded. 
All the members of our circle had been officially informed from 
the beginning that Stepan Trofimovitch would see nobody for a 
time, and begged them to leave him quite alone. He insisted on 
sending round a circular notice to this effect, though I tried to 
dissuade him. I went round to every one at his request and told 
everybody that Varvara Petrovna had given “our old man”’ (as 
we all used to call Stepan Trofimovitch ainong ourselves) a 
special job, to arrange in order some correspondence lasting over 
many years; that he had shut himself up to do it and I was 
helping him. Liputin was the only one I did not have time to 
visit, and I kept putting it off—to tell the real truth I was afraid 
to go to him. I knew beforehand that he would not believe one 
word of my story, that he would certainly imagine that there was 
some secret at the bottom of it, which they were trying to hide 
from him alone, and as soon-as I left him he would set to work 
to make inquiries and gossip all over the town. While I was 
picturing all this to myself 1 happened to run across him in the 
street. It turned out that he had heard all about it from our 


THE SINS OF OTHERS "5 


friends, whom I had only just informed. But, strange to say, 
instead of being inquisitive and asking questions about Stepan 
Trofimovitch, he interrupted me, when I began apologising for 
not having come to him before, and at once passed to other 
subjects. It is true that he had a great deal stored up to tell me. 
He was in a state of great excitement, and was delighted to have 
got hold of me for a listener. He began talking of the news 
of the town, of the arrival of the governor’s wife, ‘“with new 
topics of conversation,’ of an opposition party already formed in 
the club, of how they were all in a hubbub over the new ideas, 
and how charmingly this suited him, and so on. He talked for 
a quarter of an hour and so amusingly that I could not tear 
myself away. ‘Though I could not endure him, yet I must admit 

he had the gift of making one listen to him, especially when he 
was very angry at something. This man was, in my opinion, a 
regular spy from his very nature. At every moment he knew 
the very latest gossip and all the trifling incidents of our town, 
especially the unpleasant ones, and it was surprising to me how 
he took things to heart that were sometimes absolutely no 
concern of his. It always seemed to me that the leading feature 
of his character was envy. When I told Stepan Trofimovitch 
the same evening of my meeting Liputin that morning and our 
conversation, the latter to my amazement became greatly 
agitated, and asked me the wild question : 

“Does Liputin know or not ?” 

I began trying to prove that there was no possibility of his 
finding it out so soon, and that there was nobody from whom 
he could hear it. But Stepan Trofimovitch was not to be shaken. 

“Well, you may believe it or not,” he concluded unexpectedly 
at last, “‘ but I’m convinced that he not only knows every detail 
of ‘our’ position, but that he knows something else besides, 
something neither you nor I know yet, and perhaps never shall, 
or shall only know when it’s too late, when there’s no turning 
Cd iit 

I said nothing, but these words suggested a great deal. For 
five whole days after that we did not say one word about Liputin ; 
it was clear to me that Stepan Trofimovitch greatly regretted 
having let his tongue run away with him, and having revealed 
such suspicions before me. 


76 THE POSSESSED 


II 


One morning, on the seventh or eighth day after Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch had consented to become “ engaged,’”’ about eleven o’clock, 
when I was hurrying as usual to my afflicted friend, I had an 
adventure on the way. 

I met Karmazinoy, “‘ the great writer,” as Liputin called him. 
I had read Karmazinov from a child. His novels and tales were 
well known to the past and even to the present generation. I 
revelled in them ; they were the great enjoyment of my childhood 
and youth. Afterwards I grew rather less enthusiastic over his 
work. I did not care so much for the novels with a purpose which 
he had been writing of late as for his first, early works, which were 
so full of spontaneous poetry, and his latest publications I had not 
liked at all. Speaking generally, if I may venture to express my 
opinion on so delicate a subject, all these talented gentlemen of 
the middling sort who are sometimes in their lifetime accepted 
almost as geniuses, pass out of memory quite suddenly and with- 
out a trace when they die, and what’s more, it often happens that 
even during their lifetime, as soon as a new generation grows up 
and takes the place of the one in which they have flourished, they 
are forgotten and neglected by every one in an incredibly short 
time. This somehow happens among us quite suddenly, like the 
shifting of the scenes on the stage. Oh, it’s not at all the same 
as with Pushkin, Gogol, Moliére, Voltaire, all those great men 
who really had a new original word to say! It’s true, too, that 
these talented gentlemen of the middling sort in the decline of 
their venerable years usually write themselves out in the most 
pitiful way, though they don’t observe the fact themselves. It 
happens not infrequently that a writer who has been for a long 
time credited with extraordinary profundity and expected to 
exercise a great and serious influence on the progress of society, 
betrays in the end such poverty, such insipidity in his funda- 
mental ideas that no one regrets that he succeeded in writing 
himself out so soon. But the old grey-beards don’t notice 
this, and are angry. Their vanity sometimes, especially 
towards the end of their career, reaches proportions that may 
well provoke wonder. God knows what they begin to take 
themselves for—for gods at least! People used to say about 
Karmazinov that his connections with aristocratic society and 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 77 


powerful personages were dearer to him than his own soul. 
People used to say that on meeting you he would be cordial, 
that he would fascinate and enchant you with his open- 
heartedness, especially if you were of use to him in some way, 
_and if you came to him with some preliminary recommendation. 

But that before any stray prince, any stray countess, anyone that 
he was afraid of, he would regard it as his sacred duty to forget 
your existence with the most insulting carelessness, like a chip of 
wood, like a fly, before you had even time to get out of his sight ; 
he seriously considered this the best and most aristocratic style. 
In spite of the best of breeding and perfect knowledge of good 
manners he is, they say, vain to such an hysterical pitch that he 
cannot conceal his irritability as an author even in those circles 
of society where little interest is taken in literature. If anyone 
were to surprise him by being indifferent, he would be morbidly 
chagrined, and try to revenge himself. 

A year before, I had read an article of his in a review, written 
with an immense affectation of naive poetry, and psychology too. 
He described the wreck of some steamer on the English coast, of 
which he had been the witness, and how he had seen the drowning 
people saved, and the dead bodies brought ashore. All this 
rather long and verbose article was written solely with the object 
of self-display. One seemed to read between the lines: ‘‘ Con- 
centrate yourselves on me. Behold what I was like at those 
moments. What are the sea, the storm, the rocks, the splinters 
of wrecked ships to you? I have described all that sufficiently 
to you with my mighty pen. Why look at that drowned woman 
_ with the dead child in her dead arms? Look rather at me, see 
how I was unable to bear that sight and turned away from it. 
Here I stood with my back to it; here I was horrified and could 
not bring myself to look; I blinked my eyes—isn’t that inte- 
resting ?’? When I told Stepan Trofimovitch my opinion of 
Karmazinov’s article he quite agreed with me. 

When rumours had reached us of late that Karmazinov was 
coming to the neighbourhood I was, of course, very eager to see 
him, and, if possible, to make his acquaintance. I knew that this 
might be done through Stepan Trofimovitch, they had once been 
friends. And now I suddenly met him at the cross-roads. I knew 
him at once. He had been pointed out to me two or three days 
before when he drove past with the governor’s wife. He was a 
short, stiff-looking old man, though not over fifty-five, with a 
rather red little face, with thick grey locks of hair clustering 


78 ‘THE POSSESSED 


under his chimney-pot hat, and curling round his clean little 
pink ears. His clean little face was not altogether handsome 
with its thin, long, crafty-looking lips, with its rather fleshy nose, 
and its sharp, shrewd little eyes. He was dressed somewhat 
shabbily in a sort of cape such as would be worn in Switzerland 
or North Italy at that time of year. But, at any rate, all the 
minor details of his costume, the little studs, and collar, the 
buttons, the tortoise-shell lorgnette on a narrow black ribbon, 
the signet-ring, were all such as are worn by persons of the most 
irreproachable good form. I am certain that in summer he must 
have worn light prunella shoes with mother-of-pearl buttons at 
the side. When we met he was standing still at the turning and 
looking about him, attentively. Noticing that I was looking at 
him with interest, he asked me in a sugary, though rather shrill 
voice : 

‘* Allow me to ask, which is my nearest way to Bykovy Street ?” 

“To Bykovy Street 2? Oh, that’s here, close by,’”’ I cried in 
great excitement. ‘“‘ Straight on along this street and the second 
turning to the left.” | 

“ Very much obliged to you.” 

A curse on that minute! I fancy I was shy, and looked 
cringing. He instantly noticed all that, and of course realised it 
all at once; that is, realised that I knew who he was, that I had 
read him and revered him from.a child, and that I was shy and 
looked at him cringingly. He smiled, nodded again, and walked 
on as I had directed him. I don’t know why I turned back to 
follow him; I don’t know why I ran for ten paces beside him. 
He suddenly stood still again. 

‘* And could you tell me where is the nearest cab-stand ?”’ he 
shouted out to me again. 

It was a horrid shout ! A horrid voice ! 

“A cab-stand ? The nearest cab-stand is . ... by the Cathe- 
dral; there are always cabs standing there,” and J almost turned 
to run for a cab for him. I almost believe that that was what he 
expected me to do. Of course I checked myself.at once, and 
stood still, but he had noticed my movement and was still 
watching me with the same horrid smile. Then something 
happened which I shall never forget. 

He suddenly dropped a tiny bag, which he was holding in his 
left hand; though indeed it was not a bag, but rather a little 
box, or more probably some part of a pocket-book, or to be more 
accurate a little reticule, rather like an old-fashioned lady’s 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 18 


reticule, though I really don’t know what it was. I only know 
that I flew to pick it up. 

I am convinced that I did not really pick it up, but my first 
motion was unmistakable. I could not conceal it, and, like a fool, 
I turned crimson. The cunning fellow at once got all that could 
be got out of the circumstance. 

“Don’t trouble, Pll pick it up,’ he pronounced charmingly ; 
that is, when he was quite sure that I was not going to pick up the 
-reticule, he picked it up as though forestalling me, nodded once 
more, and went his way, leaving me to look like a fool. It was 
‘as good as though I had picked it up myself. For five minutes 
I considered myself utterly disgraced for ever, but as I reached 
Stepan Trofimovitch’s house I suddenly burst out laughing; the 
meeting struck me as so amusing that 1 immediately resolved to 
entertain Stepan Trofimovitch with an account of it, and even 
to act the whole scene to him. 


Il 


But this time to my surprise I found an extraordinary change 
in him. He pounced on me with a sort of avidity, it is true, as 
soon as I went in, and began listening to me, but with such a 
distracted air that at first he evidently did not take in my words. 
But as soon as I pronounced the name of Karmazinov he suddenly 
flew into a frenzy. : 

“Don’t speak of him! Don’t pronounce that name!” he 
exclaimed, almost in a fury. “ Here, look, read it! Read 
at,1? 

He opened the drawer and threw on the table three small 
sheets of paper, covered with a hurried pencil scrawl, all from 
Varvara Petrovna. The first letter was dated the day before 
yesterday, the second had come yesterday, and the last that day, 
anhour before. Their contents were quite trivial, and all referred 
to Karmazinov and betrayed the vain and fussy uneasiness of 
Varvara Petrovna and her apprehension that Karmazinov might 
- forget to pay her a visit. Here is the first one dating from two 

days before. (Probably there had been one also three days 
before, and possibly another four days before as well.) 

“Tf he deigns to visit you to-day, not a word about me, I beg. 
Not the faintest hint. Don’t speak of me, don’t mention 
me,—V. 8." | 


80 THE POSSESSED 


The letter of the day before : 

‘If he decides to pay you a visit this morning, I think the 
most dignified thing would be not to receive him. That’s what 
I think about it ; I don’t know what you think.—YV. 8.” 


To-day’s, the last: 

‘I feel sure that you’re in a regular litter and clouds of tobacco 
smoke. I’m sending you Marya and Fomushka. They’ll tidy 
you up in half an hour. And don’t hinder them, but go and sit in 
the kitchen while they clear up. I’m sending youa Bokhara rug 
- and two china vases. I’ve long been meaning to make you a 
present of them, and I’m sending you my Teniers, too, for a time. 
You can put the vases in the window and hang the Teniers on the 
right under the portrait of Goethe; it will be more conspicuous 
there and it’s always light there in the morning. If he does turn 
up at last, receive him with the utmost courtesy but try and talk 
of trifling matters, of some intellectual subject, and behave as 
though you had seen each other lately. Not a word about me. 
Perhaps I may look in on you in the evening.—V. 8S. 

‘“* P.S.—If he does not come to-day he won’t come at all. ‘i 


I read and was amazed that he was in such excitement over 
such trifles. Looking at him inquiringly, I noticed that he had 
had time while I was reading to change the everlasting white tie 
he always wore, for ared one. His hat and stick lay on the table. 
He was pale, and his hands were positively trembling. 

“‘T don’t care a hang about her anxieties,” he cried frantically, 
in response to my inquiring look. “Je m’en fiche ! She has the face 
to be excited about Karmazinov, and she does not answer my 
letters. Here is my unopened letter which she sent me back 
yesterday, here on the table under the book, under L’Homme qui 
rit. What is it to me that she’s wearing herself out over Nikolay ! 
Je men fiche, et je proclame ma liberté! Au diable le 
Karmazinov! Au diable la Lembke / ve hidden the vases in 
the entry, and the Teniers in the chest of drawers, and I have 
demanded that she is to see me at once. Do you hear. I’ve 
insisted! I’ve sent her just such a scrap of paper, a pencil 
scrawl, unsealed, by Nastasya, and I’m waiting. I want Darya 
Pavlovna to speak to me with her own lips, before the face of 
Heaven, or at least before you. Vous me seconderez, n’est-ce pas, 
comme ami et témoin. I don’t want to have to blush, to lie, 
I don’t want secrets, I won’t have secrets in this matter. Let’ 
them confess everything to me openly, frankly, honourably and 


| 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 81 


then . . . then perhaps I may surprise the whole generation 
by my magnanimity.... Am/TI a scoundrel or not, my dear 
sir?’’ he concluded suddenly, looking menacingly at me, as 
though I’d considered him a scoundrel. 

I offered him a sip of water; I had never seen him like this 
before. All the while he was talking he kept running from one 
end of the room to the other, but he suddenly stood still before 


me in an extraordinary attitude. 


“Can you suppose,”’ he began again with hysterical haughtiness, 
looking me up and down, “can you imagine that I, Stepan 
Verhovensky, cannot find in myself the moral strength to take 
my bag—my beggar’s bag—and laying it on my feeble shoulders 
to go out at the gate and vanish for ever, when honour and the 


great principle of independence demand it? It’s not the first 


time that Stepan Verhovensky has had to repel despotism by 
moral force, even though it be the despotism of a crazy woman, 
that is, the most cruel and insulting despotism which can exist on 
earth, although you have, I fancy, forgotten yourself so much as 
to laugh at my phrase, my dear sir! Oh, you don’t believe 
that I can find the moral strength in myself to end my life as a 
tutor in a merchant’s family, or to die of hunger in a ditch! 
Answer me, answer at once; do you believe it, or don’t you 
believe it ?” 

But I was purposely silent. I even affected to hesitate to 


wound him by answering in the negative, but to be unable to 


answer affirmatively. In all this nervous excitement of his there 
was something which really did offend me, and not personally, 


oh,no! But... I will explain later on. 


He positively turned pale. 
““Perhaps you are bored with me, G v (this is my surname), 
and you would like . . . not to come and see me at all?” he 





Said in that tone of pale composure which usually precedes some 
extraordinary outburst. Ijumpedupinalarm. At that moment 


Nastasya came in, and, without a word, handed Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch a piece of paper, on which something was written in 


pencil. He glanced at it and flung it to me. On the paper, in 
Varvara Petrovna’s hand three words were written: “Stay at_ 


home.” 

Stepan Trofimovitch snatched up his hat and stick in silence 
and went quickly out of the room. Mechanically I followed him. 
Suddenly voices and sounds of rapid footsteps were heard in the 
passage. He stood still, as though thunder-struck. | 

F 


82 THE POSSESSED 


“Tt’s Liputin; I am lost!’ he whispered, clutching at my 
arm. 
At the same instant Liputin walked into the room. 


IV 


Why he should be lost owing to Liputin I did not know, and 
indeed I did not attach much significance to the words ; I put it 
all down to his nerves. His terror, however, was remarkable, 
and I made up my mind to keep a careful watch on him. 

The very appearance of Liputin as he came in assured us that 
he had on this occasion a special right to come in, in spite of the 
prohibition. He brought with him an unknown gentleman, who 
must have been a new arrival in the town. In reply to the sense- 
less stare of my petrified friend, he called out immediately in a 
loud voice : 

‘“‘T’m bringing you a visitor, a special one! I make bold to 
intrude on your solitude. Mr. Kirillov, a very distinguished 
civil engineer. And what’s more he knows your son, the much 
esteemed Pyotr Stepanovitch, very intimately; and he has a 
message from him. He’s only just arrived.” 

“The message is your own addition,” the visitor observed 
curtly. ‘“There’s no message at all. But I certainly do know 
Verhovensky. I left him in the X. province, ten days ahead 
of us.” 

Stepan Trofimovitch mechanically offered his hand and 
motioned him to sit down. He looked at me, he looked at 
Liputin, and then as though suddenly recollecting himself sat 
down himself, though he still kept his hat and stick in his hands 
without being aware of it. 

‘““ Bah, but you were going out yourself! I was told that you 
were quite knocked up with work.” 

“Yes, I’m ill, and you see, I meant to go for a walk, 1...” 

Stepan Trofimovitch checked himself, quickly flung his hat 
and stick on the sofa. and—turned crimson. 

Meantime, I was hurriedly examining the visitor. He wasa 
young man, about twenty-seven, decently dressed, well made, 
slender and dark, with a pale, rather muddy-coloured face and 
black lustreless eyes. He seemed rather thoughtful and absent- ’ 
minded, spoke jerkily and ungrammatically, transposing words 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 83 


in rather a strange way, and getting muddled if he attempted a 
sentence of any length. Liputin was perfectly aware of Stepan 
Trofimovitch’s alarm, and was obviously pleased at it. He sat 
down in a wicker chair which he dragged almost into the middle of 
the room, so as to be at an equal distance between his host and 
the visitor, who had installed themselves on sofas on opposite 
sides of the room. His sharp eyes darted inquisitively from one 
corner of the room to another. 

“It’s .... . a long while since I’veseen Petrusha. ... You 
met abroad ?”’ Stepan Trofimovitch managed to mutter to the 
visitor. 

** Both here and abroad.” 

* Alexey Nilitch has only just returned himself after living 
_ four years abroad,” put in Liputin. ‘‘ He has been travelling to 
perfect himself in his speciality and has come to us because he has 
good reasons to expect a job on the building of our railway 
bridge, and he’s now waiting for an answer about it. He 
knows the Drozdovs and Lizaveta Nikolaevna, through Pyotr 
Stepanovitch.” 

The engineer sat, as it were, with a ruffled air, and listened 
with awkward impatience. It seemed to me that he was angry 
about something. » _ b 

* He knows Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch too.” 

“Do you know Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch ?”’ inquired Stepan 
Trofimovitch. 

*“ IT know him too.” 

“It’s . . . it’s a very long time since I’ve seen Petrusha, and 
... I feel I have so little right to call myself a father . . . c’est 
lemot; I... how did you leave him ?”’ 


“Oh, yes, I left him ... he comes himself,” replied Mr. 
Kirillov, in haste to be rid of the question again. Hecertainly 
was angry. 


“He’s. coming! At last I... you see, it’s very long since 
I’ve see Petrusha!”’ Stepan Trofimovitch could not get away 
from this phrase. ‘‘ Now I expect my poor boy to whom . 
to whom I have been so much to blame! That is, I mean to say, 


when I left him in Petersburg, I . . . in short, I looked on him 
as a nonentity, quelque chose dans cegenre. He was a very nervous 
boy, you know, emotional, and... very timid. When he 


said his prayers going to bed he used to bow down to the ground, 
and make the sign of the cross on his pillow that he might not 
die in the night. ... . Je m’en souviens. LHnfin, no artistic feeling 


84 THE POSSESSED 


whatever, not a sign of anything higher, of anything: funda- 
mental, no embryo of a future ideal... c’était comme un 
petit idiot, but I’m afraid I am incoherent; excuse me... you 
came upon me...” 

‘““You say seriously that he crossed his pillow?’ the 
engineer asked suddenly with marked curiosity. 

‘* Yes, he used to...” 

‘“ Allright. I just asked. Go on.” 

Stepan Trofimovitch looked interrogatively at Liputin. 

‘““[’m very grateful to you for your visit. But I must confess 
I’m... not ina condition... justnow... But allow me 
to ask where you are lodging.” 

“ At Filipov’s, in Bogoyavlensky Street.” 

“‘ Ach, that’s where Shatov lives,”’ I observed involuntarily. 

‘“‘ Just so, in the very same house,” cried Liputin, “ only 
Shatov lodges above, in the attic, while he’s down below, at 
Captain Lebyadkin’s. He knows Shatov too, and he knows 
Shatov’s wife. He was very intimate with her, abroad.”’ 

“Comment! Do you really know anything about that un- 
happy marriage de ce pauvre amt and that woman,” cried 
Stepan Trofimovitch, carried away by sudden feeling. ‘‘ You 
are the first man I’ve met who has known her personally ; and if 
Crayne ei} 

‘“What nonsense!” the engineer snapped out, flushing all 
over. ‘‘ How youadd to things, Liputin! I’venotseenShatov’s 
wife ; I’ve only once seen her in the distance and not at all close. ... 
I know Shatov. Why do you add things of all sorts ?”’ 

He turned round sharply on the sofa, clutched his hat, then 
Jaid it down again, and settling himself down once more as before, 
fixed his angry black eyes on Stepan Trofimovitch with a sort 
of defiance. I was at a loss to understand such strange irritability. 

‘Excuse me,” Stepan Trofimovitch observed impressively. 
*““T understand that it may be a very delicate subject. . . .”’ 

‘No sort of delicate subject in it, and indeed it’s shameful, 
and I didn’t shout at you that it’s nonsense, but at Liputin, 
because he adds things. Excuse me if you took it to yourself. 
I know Shatov, but I don’t know his wife at all...I don’t 
know her at all!” 

“T understand. I understand. And if I insisted, it’s only 
because I’m very fond of our poor friend, notre irascible ami, 
and have always taken an interest in him... . In my opinion ' 
that man changed his former, possibly over-youthful hut yet 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 85 


sound ideas, too abruptly. And now he says all sorts of things 
about notre Sainte Russie to such a degree that I’ve long explained 
this upheaval in his whole constitution, I can only call it that, to 
some violent shock in his family life, and, in fact, to his un- 
successful marriage. I, who know my poor Russia like the fingers 
on my hand, and have devoted my whole life to the Russian 
people, I can assure you that he does not know the Russian 
people, and what’s more. . .” 

*‘ I don’t know the Russian people at all, either, and I haven’t 
time to study them,” the engineer snapped out again, and again 
he turned sharply on the sofa. Stepan Trofimovitch was pulled 

up in the middle of his speech. 

“He is studying them, he is studying them,” interposed 
Liputin. “‘He has already begun the study of them, and is 
_ writing a very interesting article dealing with the causes of the 
increase of suicide in Russia, and, generally speaking, the causes 
that lead to the increase or decrease of suicide in society. He has 
reached amazing results.” 

The engineer became dreadfully excited. 

* You have no right at all,’ he muttered wrathfully. ‘Im 
not writing an article. I’m not going to do silly things. I asked 
you confidentially, quite by chance. There’s no article at all. 
I’m not publishing, and you haven’t the right .. .” 

Liputin was obviously enjoying himself. 

“I beg your pardon, perhaps I made a mistake in calling your 
literary work an article. He is only collecting observations, and 
the essence of the question, or, so to say, its moral aspect he is not 
touching at all. And, indeed, he rejects morality itself altogether, 
_-and holds with the last new principle of general destruction for 
the sake of ultimate good. He demands already more thana 
hundred million heads for the establishment of common sense in 
Europe; many more than they demanded at the last Peace 
Congress. Alexey Nilitch goes further than anyone in that sense.”’ 

The engineer listened with a pale and contemptuous smile. 

For half a minute every one was silent. 

“All this is stupid, Liputin,’’ Mr. Kirillov observed at last, 
with a certain dignity. ‘‘ If I by chance had said some things to 
you, and you caught them up again, as you like. But you have 
no right, for I neverspeak to anyone. I scorn totalk.... Ifone 
has a conviction then it’s clear to me. ... But you’re doing 
foolishly. I don’t argue about things when everything’s settled. 

_ Ican’t bear arguing. I never want to argue. .. .” 


99 


86 _ THE POSSESSED 


‘‘ And perhaps you are very wise,’ Stepan Trofimovitch could 
not resist saying. 

‘‘T apologise to you, but [ am not angry with anyone here,” 
the visitor went on, speaking hotly and rapidly. ‘“‘ I have seen 
few people for four years. For four years I have talked little 
and have tried to see no one, for my own objects which do not 
concern anyone else, for four years. Liputinfound this out and 
is laughing. I understand and don’t mind. I’m not ready to 
take offence, only annoyed at his liberty. And if I.don’t explain 
my ideas to you,’’ he concluded unexpectedly, scanning us all 
with resolute eyes, “it’s not at all that ’'m afraid of your giving 
information to the government; that’s not so; please do not 
imagine nonsense of that sort.”’ 

No one made any reply to these words. We only looked at 
each other. Even Liputin forgot to snigger. 

“Gentlemen, ’m very sorry’’—Stepan Trofimovitch got up 
resolutely from the sofa—“ but I feel ill and upset. Excuse me.”’ 

‘* Ach, that’s for us to go.” Mr. Kirillov started, snatching up 
hiscap. “It’s a good thing you told us. I’m so forgetful.” 

He rose, and with a good-natured air went up to Stepan 
Trofimovitch, holding out his hand. 

“Tm sorry you’re not well, and I came.” 

“I wish you every success among us,’ answered Stepan Tro- 
fimovitch, shaking hands with him heartily and without haste. 
“I understand that, if as you say you have lived so long abroad, 
cutting yourself off from people for objects of your own and 
forgetting Russia, you must inevitably look with wonder on us 
who are Russians to the backbone, and we must feel the same 
about you. Mais cela passera. I’m only puzzled at one thing : 
you want to build our bridge and at the same time you declare 
that you hold with the principle of universal destruction. They 
won't let you build our bridge.” 

“What! What’s that you said? Ach, I say!” Kirillov 
cried, much struck, and he suddenly broke into the most frank 
and good-humoured laughter. For a moment his face took a 


quite childlike expression, which I thought suited him particularly. | 


Liputin rubbed his hand with delight at Stepan Trofimovitch’s 


witty remark. I kept wondering to myself why Stepan Trofimo- | 


vitch was so frightened of Liputin, and why he had cried out 
**{ am lost’? when he heard him coming. | 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 87 


Vv 


We were all standing in the doorway. It was the moment 
when hosts and guests hurriedly exchange the last and most 
cordial words, and then part to their mutual gratification. 

“The reason he’s so cross to-day,” Liputin dropped all at 
once, as it were casually, when he was just going out of the room, 
“is because he had a disturbance to-day with Captain Lebyadkin 
over his sister. Captain Lebyadkin thrashes that precious sister of 
his, the mad girl, every day with a whip, a real Cossack whip, every 
morning and evening. So Alexey Nilitch has positively taken the 

lodge so as not to be present. Well, good-bye.” 
 “ Asister? Aninvalid? With awhip?” Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch cried out, as though he had suddenly been lashed with a 
whip himself. ‘‘ What sister? What Lebyadkin ?” 

All his former terror came back in an instant. 

“Lebyadkin! Oh, that’s the retired captain; he used only to 
call himself a lieutenant before. . . .” 

** Oh, what is his rank to me? Whatsister? Good heavens! 
... You say Lebyadkin? But there used to be a Lebyadkin 
here. 3)...” 3 

“That's the very man. ‘Our’ Lebyadkin, at Virginsky’s, 
you remember ? ”’ | 

“But he was caught with forged papers?” 

“Well, now he’s come back. He’s been here almost three 
weeks and under the most peculiar circumstances.” 

“Why, but he’s a scoundrel ? ” 

*“‘ As though no one could be a scoundrel among us,” Liputin 
grinned suddenly, his knavish little eyes seeming to peer into 
Stepan Trofimovitch’s soul. 

“Good heavens! I didn’t mean that at all... though I 
quite agree with you about that, with you particularly. But 
what then, what then? What did you mean by that? You 

certainly meant something by that.” 

“ Why, it’s all so trivial. . . . This captain to all appearances 
went away from us at that time; not because of the forged 
papers, but simply to look for his sister, who was in hiding from 
him somewhere, it seems; well, and now he’s brought her and 
that’s the whole story. Why do you seem frightened, Stepan 
Trofimovitch ? I only tell this from his drunken chatter though, 


88 THE POSSESSED 


he doesn’t speak of it himself when he’s sober. He’s an irritable 
man, and, so to speak, sesthetic in a military style; only he has 
bad taste. And this sister is lame as well as mad. She seems to 
have been seduced by some one, and Mr. Lebyadkin has, it 
seems, for many years received a yearly grant from the seducer 
by way of compensation for the wound to his honour, so it would 
seem at least from his chatter, though I believe it’s only drunken 
‘alk. It’s simply his brag. Besides, that sort of thing is done 
much cheaper. But that he has a sum of money is perfectly 
gertain. ‘Ten days ago he was walking barefoot, and now I’ve 
seen hundreds in his hands. His sister has fits of some sort 
every day, she shrieks and he ‘ keeps her in order’ with the whip. 
You must inspire a woman with respect, he says. What I can’t 
understand is how Shatov goes on living above him. Alexey 
Nilitch has only been three days with them, They were 
acquainted in Petersburg, and now he’s taken the lodge to get 
away from the disturbance.” 

“Is this all true ?”’ said Stepan Trofimovitch, addressing the 
engineer. | 

“You do gossip a lot, Liputin,”’ the latter muttered 
wrathfully. | 

‘“‘ Mysteries, secrets! Where have all these mysteries and 
secrets among us sprung from?” Stepan Trofimovitch could 
not refrain from exclaiming. 

The engineer frowned, flushed red, shrugged his shoulders and 
went out of the room. 

“ Alexey Nilitch positively snatched the whip out of his hand, 
broke it and threw it out of the window, and they had a violent 
quarrel,’ added Liputin. 

“Why are you chattering, Liputin ; it’s stupid. What for?” 
Alexey Nilitch turned again instantly. 

“ Why be so modest and conceal the generous impulses of one’s 
soul; that is, of your soul? I’m not speaking of my own.” 

‘“‘ How stupid it is . . . and quite unnecessary. Lebyadkin’s 
stupid and quite worthless—and no use to the cause, and... 
utterly mischievous. Why do you keep babbling all sorts of 
things ? I’m going.” } 

“ Oh, what a pity!” cried Liputin with a candid smile, “ or 
{’d have amused you with another little story, Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch. I came, indeed, on purpose to tell you, though I dare say 
you’ve heard it already. Well, till another time, Alexey Nilitch 
isin sucha hurry. Good-bye for the present. The story concerns 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 89 


Varvara Petrovna. She amused me the day before yesterday ; 
she sent for me on purpose. It’s simply killing. Good-bye.” 

But at this Stepan Trofimovitch absolutely would not let him go. 
He seized him by the shoulders, turned him sharply back into the 
room, and sat him down inachair. Liputin was positively scared. 

“Why, to be sure,” he began, looking warily at Stepan Tro- 

fimovitch from his chair, “ she suddenly sent for me and asked 
me ‘confidentially’ my private opinion, whether Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch is mad or in his right mind. Isn’t that 
astonishing ?”’ 
_ “ You’re out of your mind!” muttered Stepan Trofimovitch, 
and suddenly, as though he were beside himself: ‘‘ Liputin, you 
know perfectly well that you only came here to tell me some- 
thing insulting of that sort and . . . something worse !”’ 

In a flash, I recalled his conjecture that Liputin knew not only 
more than we did about our affair, but something else which we 
should never know. 

“Upon my word, Stepan Trofimovitch,’ muttered Liputin, 
seeming greatly alarmed, “‘ upon my word . . .” 

“Hold your tongue and begin! I beg you, Mr. Kirillov, to 
come back too, and be present. I earnestly beg you! Sit down, 
and you, Liputin, begin directly, simply and without any 

excuses.” | 

“Tf I had only known it would upset you so much I wouldn’t 
have begun at all. And of course I thought you knew all about 
it from Varvara Petrovna herself.’ 

“ You didn’t think that at all. Begin, begin, I tell you.” 

“Only do me the favour to sit down yourself, or how can I sit 
here when you are running about before me in such excitement. 
I can’t speak coherently.” 

Stepan Trofimovitch restrained himself and sank impressively 
into an easy chair. The engineer stared gloomily at the floor. 
Liputin looked at them with intense enjoyment. 

“How am I to begin? ... Dm too overwhelmed... . 


Vi 
“ The day before yesterday a servant was suddenly sent to me: 


* You are asked to call at twelve o’clock,’ said he. Can you fancy 
such a thing ? I threw aside my work, and precisely at midday 


90 THE POSSESSED 


yesterday I was ringing at the bell. I was let into the drawing- 
room ; I waited a minute—she came in; she made me sit down 
and sat down herself, opposite. I sat down, and I couldn’t 
believe it ; you know how she has always treated me. She began 
at once without beating about the bush, you know her way. 
‘ You remember,’ she said, ‘that four years ago when Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch was ill he did some strange things which made ail 
the town wonder till the position was explained. One of those 
actions concerned you personally. When Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
vitch recovered he went at my request to call on you. I 
know that he talked to you several times before, too. Tell 
me openly and candidly what you .. . (she faltered a little at 
this point) what you thought of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
then . . . what was your view of him altogether ... what 
idea you were able to form of him at that time ... and still 
have ?’ 

‘“‘ Here she was completely confused, so that she paused for a 
whole minute, and suddenly flushed. I was alarmed. She began 
again—touchingly is not quite the word, it’s not applicable to 
her—but in a very impressive tone : 

“**T want you,’ she said, ‘ to understand me clearly and without 
mistake. I’ve sent for you now because I look upon you as a 
keen-sighted and quick-witted man, qualified to make accurate 
observations.’ (What compliments!) ‘ You’ll understand too,’ she 
said, ‘that I ama mother appealing to you. . . . Nikolay Vsyevo- 
lodovitch has suffered some calamities and has passed through 
many changes of fortune in his life. All that,’ she said, ‘ might 
well have affected the state of his mind. I’m not speaking of 
madness, of course,’ she said, ‘that’s quite out of the question !’ 
(This was uttered proudly and resolutely.) ‘ But there might be 
something strange, something peculiar, some turn of thought, a 
tendency to some particular way of looking at things.’ (Those 
were her exact words, and I admired, Stepan Trofimovitch, the 
exactness with which Varvara Petrovna can put things. She’s 
a lady of superior intellect !) ‘I have noticed in him, anyway,’ 
she said, ‘a perpetual restlessness and a tendency to peculiar im- 
pulses. But lama mother and you are an impartial spectator, and 
therefore qualified with your intelligence to form a more impartial 
- opinion. I implore you, in fact’ (yes, that word, ‘implore’ was 
uttered !), ‘to tell me the whole truth, without mincing matters. 
And if you will give me your word never to forget that I have . 
spoken to you in confidence, you may reckon upon my always being 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 91 


ready to seize every opportunity in the future to show my 
gratitude.’ Well, what do you say to that ?” 

“You have ...so amazed me...” faltered Stepan Tro- 
fimovitch, “‘ that I don’t believe you.” 

“Yes, observe, observe,” cried Liputin, as though he had 
not heard Stepan Trofimovitch, “‘ observe what must be her 
agitation and uneasiness if she stoops from her grandeur to 
appeal to a man like me, and even condescends to beg me to 
keep it secret. What do you call that? Hasn’t she received 
some news of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, something un- 
expected ?”’ ) 

“I don’t know .. . of news of any sort . . . I haven’t seen 
her for some days, but . . . but I must say .. .” lisped Stepan 
_ Trofimovitch, evidently hardly able to think clearly, “‘ but I 
must say, Liputin, that if it was said to you in confidence, and here 
you're telling it before every one .. .” 

“Absolutely in confidence! But God strike me dead if I 
.. . But as for telling it here . . . what does it matter? Are 
we strangers, even Alexey Nilitch ?” 

“I don’t share that attitude. No doubt we three here will 

keep the secret, but I’m afraid of the fourth, you, and wouldn’t 
trust you in anything. .. .” 
_ “What do you mean by that? Why it’s more to my interest 
than anyone’s, seeing I was promised eternal gratitude! What 
_ L wanted was to point out in this connection one extremely strange 
incident, rather to say, psychological than simply strange. 
Yesterday evening, under the influence of my conversation with 
Varvara Petrovna—you can fancy yourself what an impression 
it made on me—I approached Alexey Nilitch with a discreet 
question: “You knew Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch abroad,’ said I, 
“and used to know him before in Petersburg too. What do you 
think of his mind and his abilities?’ said I. He answered 
laconically, as his way is, that he was a man of subtle intellect 
andsound judgment. ‘And have you never noticed in the course 
of years,’ said I, ‘any turn of ideas or peculiar way of looking 
at things, or any, so to say, insanity ?’ In fact, I repeated Var- 
vara Petrovna’s own question. And would you believe it, 
Alexey Nilitch suddenly grew thoughtful, and scowled, just as 
he’s doing now. ‘ Yes,’ said he, ‘I have sometimes thought there 
was something strange.’ ‘Take note, too, that if anything could 
have seemed strange even to Alexey Nilitch, it must really have 
been something, mustn’t it ?”’ 


92 THE POSSESSED 


“Ts that true ?”’ said Stepan Trofimovitch, turning to Alexey 
Nilitch. 

‘“‘T should prefer not to speak of it,’’ answered Alexey Nilitch, 
suddenly raising his head, and looking at him with flashing eyes. 
“I wish to contest your right to do this, Liputin. You’ve no 
right to drag me into this. I did not give my whole opinion at 
all. Though I knew Nikolay Stavrogin in Petersburg that was 
long ago, and though [I’ve met him since I know him very little. I 
beg you to leave me out and... All this is something like 
scandal.” 

Liputin threw up his hands with an air of oppressed innocence. 

“A scandal-monger! Why not say a spy while you're about 
it? It’s all very well for you, Alexey Nilitch, to criticise when 
you stand aloof from everything. But you wouldn’t believe it, 
Stepan Trofimovitch—take Captain Lebyadkin, he is stupid 
enough, one may say ... in fact, one’s ashamed to say how 
stupid he is; thereis a Russian comparison, to signify the degree 
of it ; and do you know he considers himself injured by Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch, though he is full of admiration for his wit. ‘I?m 
amazed,’ said he, ‘at that man. He’s a subtleserpent.’ His own 
words. AndI said to him (still under the influence of my conver- 
sation, and after I had spoken to Alexey Nilitch), ‘What do you 
think, captain, is your subtle serpent mad or not?’ Would you 
believe it, it was just as if I’d given him a sudden lash from behind. 
He simply leapt up from his seat. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘.. . yes, 
only that,’ he said, ‘cannot afiect ... ‘Affect what?’ He 
didn’t finish. Yes, and then he fell to thinking so bitterly, think- 
ing so much, that his drunkenness dropped off him. We were 
sitting in Vilipov’s restaurant. And it wasn’t till half an hour 
later that he suddenly struck the table with his fist. ‘ Yes,’ 
said he, ‘maybe he’s mad, but that can’t affect it... .’ Again 
he didn’t say what it couldn’t affect. Of course I’m only giving 
you an extract of the conversation, but one can understand the 
sense of it. You may ask whom you like, they all have the same 
idea in their heads, though it never entered anyone’s head before. 
‘ Yes,’ they say, ‘he’s mad; he’s very clever, but perhaps he’s 
mad too.’ ”’ | 

Stepan Trofimovitch sat pondering, and thought intently. 

“And how does Lebyadkin know ?”’ 

‘*Do you mind inquiring about that of Alexey Nilitch, who 
has just called me a spy ? I’m aspy, yet i don’t know, but Alexey 
Nilitch knows all the ins and outs of it, and holds his tongue.” 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 93 


*“) know nothing about it, or hardly anything,” answered the 
engineer with the same irritation. ‘“ You make Lebyadkin 
drunk to find out. You brought me here to find out and to 
make me say. And so you must be a spy.” 

“I haven’t made him drunk yet, and he’s not worth the 
money either, with all his secrets. They are not worth that to me. 
I don’t know what they are to you. On the contrary, he is 
scattering the money, though twelve days ago he begged fifteen 
kopecks of me, and it’s he treats me to champagne, not I him. 
But you've given me an idea, and if there should be occasion 
I will make him drunk, just to get to the bottom of it and maybe 
I shall find out . . . all your little secrets,” Liputin snapped back 
spitefully. 


_ Stepan Trofimovitch looked in bewilderment at the two dis- 


putants. Both were giving themselves away, and what’s more, 
were not standing on ceremony. The thought crossed my mind 
that Liputin had brought this Alexey Nilitch to us with the simple 
object of drawing him into a conversation through a third person 


for purposes of his own—his favourite manceuvre. 


** Alexey Nilitch knows Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch quite well,”’ 
he went on, irritably, ‘only he conceals it. And as to your 
question about Captain Lebyadkin, he made his acquaintance 
before any of us did, six years ago in Petersburg, in that obscure, 
if one may so express it, epoch in the life of Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
vitch, before he had dreamed of rejoicing our hearts by coming 
here. Our prince, one must conclude, surrounded himself with 
rather a queer selection of acquaintances. It was at that time, 
it seems, that he made acquaintance with this gentleman here.” 

“Take care, Liputin. I warn you, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
meant to be here soon himself, and he knows how to defend 
himself.” 

‘“ Why warn me? Iam the first to cry out that he is a man of 
the most subtle and refined intelligence, and I quite reassured 
Varvara Petrovna yesterday on that score. ‘It’s his character, 
I said to her, ‘that I can’t answer for.’ Lebyadkin said the 
same thing yesterday: ‘ A lot of harm has come to me from his 
character,’ he said. Ach, Stepan Trofimovitch, it’s all very well 
for you to cry out abvut slander and spying, and at the very time 
observe that you wring it all out of me, and with such immense 
curiosity too. Now, Varvara Petrovna went straight to the point 
yesterday. ‘ You have had a personal interest in the business,’ 
she said, ‘ that’s why I appeal to you.’ I should say so! What 


94 THE POSSESSED 


need to look for motives when I’ve swallowed a personal insult 
from his excellency before the whole society of the place. 
I should think I have grounds to be interested, not merely for 
the sake of gossip. He shakes hands with you one day, and next 
day, for no earthly reason, he returns your hospitality by slapping 
you on the cheeks in the face of all decent society, if the fancy 
takes him, out of sheer wantonness. And what’s more, the fair 
sex is everything for them, these butterflies and mettlesome- 
cocks! Grand gentlemen with little wings like the ancient cupids, 
lady-killing Petchorins! It’s all very well for you, Stepan 
Trofimovitch, a confirmed bachelor, to talk like that, stick up 
for his. excellency and call me a slanderer. But if you 
married a pretty young wife—as you're still such a fine fellow— 
then I dare say you'd bolt your door against our prince, and 
throw up barricades in your house! Why, if only that 
Mademoiselle Lebyadkin, who is thrashed with a whip, were not 
mad and bandy-legged, by Jove, I should fancy she was the victim 
of the passions of our general, and that it was from him that, 
Captain Lebyadkin had. suffered ‘in his family dignity,’ as he 
expresses it himself. Only perhaps that is inconsistent with his 
refined taste, though, indeed, even that’s no hindrance to him. 
Every berry is worth picking if only he’s in the mood for it. 
You talk of slander, but ’'m not crying this aloud though the 
whole town is ringing with it; I only listen and assent. That’s 
not. prohibited.” 

“The town’s ringing withit ? What’s the town ringing with ?”’ 

“That is, Captain Lebyadkin is shouting for all the town to 
hear, and isn’t that just the same as the market-place ringing 
with it? How am Ito blame? I interest myself in it only 
among friends, for, after all, I consider myself among friends 
here.’ He looked at us with an innocent air. “‘ Something’s: 
happened, only consider: they say his excellency has sent three 
hundred roubles from Switzerland by a most honourable young 
lady, and, so to say, modest orphan, whom I have the honour of 
knowing, to be handed over to Captain Lebyadkin. And 
Lebyadkin, a little later, was told as an absolute fact also by a 
very honourable and therefore trustworthy person, | won’t say 
whom, that not three hundred but a thousand roubles had been 
sent! . . . And so, Lebyadkin keeps crying out ‘ the young lady 
has grabbed seven hundred roubles belonging to me,’ and he’s 


almost ready to call in the police; he threatens to, anyway, and’ 


he’s making an uproar all over the town.” 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 95 


“This is vile, vile of you!” cried the engineer, leaping up 
suddenly from his chair. 

“ But I say, you are yourself the honourable person who 
brought word to Lebyadkin from Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch that 
a thousand roubles were sent, not three hundred. Why, the 
captain told me so himself when he was drunk.”’ 


“It’s ... its an unhappy misunderstanding. Some one’s 
made a mistake and it’s led to... It’s nonsense, and it’s 
base of you.” 


** But I’m ready to believe that it’s nonsense, and I’m distressed 
at the story, for, take it as you will, a girl of an honourable 
reputation is implicated first over the seven hundred roubles, 
and secondly in unmistakable intimacy with Nikolay Vsyevo- 
_lodovitch. For how much does it mean to his excellency to 
disgrace a girl of good character, or put to shame another man’s 
wife, like that incident with me ? If he comes across a generous- 
hearted man he'll force him to cover the sins of others under the 
shelter of his honourable name. That’s just what I had to put 
up with, I’m speaking of myself... .” 

“ Be careful, Liputin.” Stepan Trofimovitch got up from his 
easy chair and turned pale. 

_ * Don’t believe it, don’t believe it! Somebody has made a 
mistake and Lebyadkin’s drunk . . .” exclaimed theengineer in 

indescribable excitement. ‘‘It will all be explained, but I can’t. 

| . And I think it’s low. . . . And that’s enough, enough !”’ 

He ran out of the room. 

“What are you about? Why, I’m going with you!” cried 

 Liputin, startled. He jumped up and ran after Alexey Nilitch. 


VII 


Stepan Trofimovitch stood a moment reflecting, looked at me 
as though he did not see me, took up his hat and stick and walked 
quietly out of the room. I followed him again, as before. As we 
_ went out of the gate, noticing that I was accompanying him, he 
said : 
“Oh yes, you may serve as a witness . . . del’accident. heals 
nm accompagnerez, n "est-ce pas 2?” 
“Stepan Trofimovitch, surely you’re not going there aggin § 
‘Think what may come of it !”’ 


96 THE POSSESSED 


With a pitiful and distracted smile, a smile of shame and utter 
despair, and at the same time of a sort of strange ecstasy, he 
whispered to me, standing still for an instant : 

“TI can’t marry to cover ‘ another man’s sins 

These words were just what I was expecting. At last that 
fatal sentence that he had kept hidden from me was uttered 
aloud, after a whole week of shuffling and pretence. I was 
positively enraged. 

‘““And you, Stepan Verhovensky, with your luminous mind, 
your kind heart, can harbour such a dirty, such a lowidea.. . 
and could before Liputin came !”’ 

He looked at me, made no answer and walked on in the same 
direction. 1 did not want to be left behind. I wanted to give 
Varvara Petrovna my version. I could have forgiven him if 
he had simply with his womanish faint-heartedness believed 
Liputin, but now it was clear that he had thought of it all himself 
long before, and that Liputin had only confirmed his suspicions 
and poured oil on the flames. He had not hesitated to suspect 
the girl from the very first day, before he had any kind of grounds, 
even Liputin’s words, to go upon. Varvara Petrovna’s despotic 
behaviour he had explained to himself as due to her haste to cover 
up the aristocratic misdoings of her precious ‘‘ Nicolas’? by marry- 
ing the girl toan honourable man! I longed for him to be punished 
for it. 

“Oh, Dieu, qui est st grand et st bon ! Oh, who will comfort me !”’ 
he exclaimed, halting suddenly again, after walking a hundred 
paces. 

“Come straight:home and I’ll make everything clear to you,” 
I cried, turning him by force towards home. 

“It’s he! Stepan Trofimovitch, it’s you? You?” A fresh, 
joyous young voice rang out like music behind us. 

We had seen nothing, but a lady on horseback suddenly made 
her appearance beside us—Lizaveta Nikolaevna with her 
invariable companion. She pulled up her horse. 

“Come. here, come here quickly !”’ she called to us, loudly 
and merrily. “‘ It’s twelve years since I’ve seen him, and I know 
him, while he... . Do you really not know me ?”’ 

Stepan Trofimovitch clasped the hand held out to him and 
kissed it reverently. He gazed at her as though he were praying 
and could not utter a word. 

‘He knows me, and is glad! Mavriky Nikolaevitch, he’s — 
delighted to see me! Why is it you haven’t been to see us all this 


749 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 97 


fortnight? Auntie tried to persuade me you were ill and must 
not be disturbed; but I know Auntie tells lies. I kept stamping 
and swearing at you, but I had made up my mind, quite made up 
my mind, that you should come to me first, that was why I didn’t: 
send to you. Heavens, why he hasn’t changed a bit!” She 
scrutinised him, bending down from the saddle. ‘‘ He’s absurdly 
unchanged. Oh, yes, he has wrinkles, a lot of wrinkles, round. 
his eyes and on his cheeks some grey hair, but his eyes are 
just the same. And have I changed? HaveI changed? Why 
don’t you say something ? ”’ 

I remembered at that moment the story that she had been 
almost ill when she was taken away to Petersburg at eleven years 
old, and that she had cried during her illness and asked for Stepan 
‘Trofimovitch. 

“You ...I1....” he faltered now in a voice breaking with 
joy. “I was just crying out ‘who will comfort me?’ and I 
heard your voice. I look onit asa miracle et je commence a croire.”’ 

“En Diew ! Hn Dieu qui est la-haut et qui est st grand et sr bon ? 
You see, I know all your lectures by heart. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, 
what faith he used to preach to me then, en Diew qui est si grand 
et si bon / And do you remember your story of how Columbus 
discovered America, and they all cried out, ‘Land! land!’ ? 
My nurse Alyona Frolovna says I was light-headed at night after- 
wards, and kept crying out ‘land! land!’ in my sleep. And 
do you remember how you told me the story of Prince Hamlet ? 
And do you remember how you described to me how the poor 
emigrants were transported from Europe to America ? And it 

was all untrue; I found out afterwards how they were trans- 

ported. But what beautiful fibs he used to tell me then, Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch ! They were better than the truth. Why do you 
look at Mavriky Nikolaevitch like that? He is the best and 
finest man on the face of the globe and you must like him just 
as you do me! II fatt tout ce que je veux. But, dear Stepan 
Trofimovitch, you must be unhappy again, since you cry out in 
the middle of the street asking who will comfort you. Unhappy, 
aren't you? Aren't you?” 

“Now I’m happy... .” | 

“Aunt is horrid to you?” she went on, without listening. 
“She’s just the same as ever, cross, unjust, and always our 
precious aunt! And do you remember how you threw yourself 
into my arms in the garden and I comforted you and cried— 
don’t be afraid of Mavriky Nikolaevitch; he has known all 

G 


98 THE POSSESSED 


about you, everything, for ever so long; you can weep on his 
shoulder as long as you like, and he’ll stand there as long as you 
like! . . . Lift up your hat, take it off altogether for a minute, 
lift up your head, stand on tiptoe, I want to kiss you on the fore- 
head as I kissed you for the last time when we parted. Do you 
see that young lady’s admiring us out of the window ? Come 
closer, closer! Heavens! How grey he is!” 

And bending over in the saddle she kissed him on the forehead. 

“Come, now to your home! I know where you live. I'll be 
with you directly, in a minute. I'll make you the first visit, you 
stubborn man, and then I must have you for a whole day at home. 
You can go and make ready for me.” 

And she galloped off with her cavalier. We returned. Stepan 
Trofimovitch sat down on the sofa and began to cry. 

‘““ Dieu, Dieu !’’ he exclaimed, “‘ enfin une minute de bonheur !”’ 

Not more than ten miuntes afterwards she reappeared 
according to her promise, escorted by her Mavriky Nikolaevitch. 

‘* Vous et le bonheur, vous arrivez en méme temps!” He got 
up to meet her. | 

‘“Here’s a nosegay for you; I rode just now to Madame 
Chevalier’s, she has flowers all the winter forname-days. Here’s 
Mavriky Nikolaevitch, please make friends. I wanted to bring 
you a cake instead of a nosegay, but Mavriky Nikolaevitch 
declares that is not in the Russian spirit.’ 

Mavriky Nikolaevitch was an artillery captain, a tall and 
handsome man of thirty-three, irreproachably correct in appear- 
ance, with an imposing and at first sight almost stern countenance, 
in spite of his wonderful and delicate kindness which no one could 
fail to perceive almost the first moment of making his acquaint- 
ance. He was taciturn, however, seemed very self-possessed and > 
made no efforts to gain friends. Many of us said later that he was — 
by no means clever ; but this was not altogether just. | 

I won’t attempt to describe the beauty of Lizaveta Nikolaevna. | 
The whole town was talking of it, though some of our ladies and — 
young girls indignantly differed on the subject. There were some | 
among them who already detested her, and principally for her 
pride. The Drozdovs had scarcely begun to pay calls, which | 
mortified them, though the real reason for the delay was Praskovya . 
Ivanovna’s invalid state. They destested her in the second) 
place because she was a relative of the governor’s wife, and! 
thirdly because she rode out every day on horseback. We had) 
never had young ladies who rode on horseback before; it was: 





THE SINS OF OTHERS 99 


only natural that the appearance of Lizaveta Nikolaevna on 
‘horseback and her neglect to pay calls was bound to offend local 
society. Yet every one knew that riding was prescribed her by 
the doctor’s orders, and they talked sarcastically of her illness. 
She really was ill. What struck me at first sight in her was her 
abnormal, nervous, incessant restlessness. Alas, the poor girl was 
very unhappy, and everything was explained later. To-day, 
recalling the past, I should not say she was such a beauty as she 
seemed tomethen. Perhapsshe was really not pretty atall. Tall, 
slim, but strong and supple, she struck one by the irregularities 
of the lines of her face. Her eyes were set somewhat like a Kal- 
muck’s, slanting; she was pale and thin in the face with high 
cheek-bones, but there was something in the face that con- 
_ quered and fascinated! There was something powerful in the 
ardent glance oi her dark eyes. She always made her appearance 
“like a conquering heroine, and to spread her conquests.”’ She 
seemed proud and at times even arrogant. I don’t know whether 
she succeeded in being kind, but I know that she wanted to, and 
made terrible efforts to force herself to be a little kind. There 
were, no doubt, many fine impulses and the very best elements 
in her character, but everything in her seemed perpetually seeking 
its balance and unable to find it; everything was in chaos, in 
agitation, in uneasiness. Perhaps the demands she made upon 
herself were too severe, and she was never able to find in herself 
the strength to satisfy them. 

She sat on the sofa and looked round the room. 

“Why do I always begin to feel sad at such moments; explain 
that mystery, you learned person? I’ve been thinking all my 
life that I should be goodness knows how pleased at seeing you 
and recalling everything, and here I somehow don’t feel pleased at 
all, although I do love you. . . . Ach, heavens! He has my portrait 
on the wall! Give it here. I remember it! I remember it! ” 

An exquisite miniature in water-colour of Liza at twelve years 
old had beensent nine years before to Stepan Trofimovitch from 
Petersburg by the Drozdovs. He had kept it hanging on his wall 
ever since. 

“Was I such a pretty child? Can that really have been my 
face ?”’ . 
She stood up, and with the portrait in her hand looked in the 
looking-glass. 
‘Make haste, take it!” she cried, giving back the portrait. 
“Don’t hang it up now, afterwards. I don’t want to look at it.” 


100 THE POSSESSED 


She sat down on the sofa again. “One life is over and another is 
begun, then that one is over—a third begins, and so on, endlessly. 
All the ends are snipped off as it were with scissors. See what stale 
things I’m telling you. Yet how much truth there is in them!” 

She looked at me, smiling; she had glanced at me several 
times already, but in his excitement Stepan Trofimovitch forgot 
that he had promised to introduce me. 

** And why have you hung my portrait under those daggers ? 
And why have you got so many daggers and sabres ?”’ : 

He had as a fact hanging on the wall, I don’t know why, two 
crossed daggers and above them a genuine Circassian sabre. As 
she asked this question she looked so directly at me that I wanted 
to answer, but hesitated to speak. Stepan Trofimovitch grasped 
the position at last and introduced me. 

““T know, I know,” she said, “Im delighted to meet you. 
Mother has heard a great deal about you, too. Let me introduce 
you to Mavriky Nikolaevitch too, he’s a splendid person. I had 
formed a funny notion of you already. You’re Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch’s confidant, aren’t you ? ”’ 

I turned rather red. 

‘ Ach, forgive me, please. I used quite the wrong word: not 
funny at all, but only ...” She was confused and blushed. 
** Why be ashamed though at your being a splendid person ? Well, 
it’s time we were going, Mavriky Nikolaevitch ! Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch, you must. be with us in half an hour. Mercy, whata lot we 
shall talk! Now I’m your confidante, and about everything, 
everything, you understand % ”’ 

Stepan Trofimovitch was alarmed at once. 

“Qh, Mavriky Nikolaevitch knows everything, don’t mind 
him!” 

‘What does he know ?”’ 

“Why, what do you mean ?”’ she cried in astonishment. 
“ Bah, why it’s true then that they’re hiding it! I wouldn’t believe 
it! And they’re hiding Dasha, too. Aunt wouldn’t let me go 
in to see Dasha to-day. She says she’s got a headache.” 


“But... but how did you find out 2?” 
“My goodness, like every one else. That needs no cunning!” 
‘““ But does every one else .. .?” 


“Why, of course. Mother, it’s true, heard it first through 
Alyona Frolovna, my nurse; your Nastasya ran round to tell 
her. You told Nastasya, didn’ t you? She says you told her © 
yourself.”’ 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 101 


“TI... did once speak,’ Stepan Trofimovitch faltered, 
crimsoning all over, “but... I only hinted... jétais si 
nerveux et malade; et puis...” 

She laughed. 

“And your confidant didn’t happen to be at hand, and 
Nastasya turned up. Well that was enough! And the whole 
town’s full of her cronies! Come, it doesn’t matter, let them 
know; it’s all the better. Make haste and come to us, we dine 
early. . . . Oh, Lforgot,’’ she added, sitting down again ; “‘ listen, 
what sort of person is Shatov ? ”’ 

“Shatov ? He’s the brother of Darya Pavlovna.” 

“I know he’s her brother! What a person you are, really,” 
she interrupted impatiently. “I want to know what he’s like; 


what sort of man he is.” 


“ Cest un pense-creux dict. C'est le meilleur et le plus irascible 
homme du monde.” 

‘“‘ I’ve heard that he’s rather queer. But that wasn’t what I 
meant. I’ve heard that he knows three languages, one of them 
English, and can do literary work. In that case I’ve a lot of 
work for him. I want some one to help me and the sooner the 
better. Would he take the work or not? He’s been recom- 
mended to me... .” 

“Oh, most certainly he will. Ht vous ferez un bienfatt. .. .” 

“Tm not doing it as a bienfart. I need some one to help me.” 

“‘T know Shatov pretty well,” I said, “ and if you will trust 
me with a message to him I’1l go to him this minute.” 

‘‘ Tell him to come to me at twelve o’clock to-morrow morning. 
Capital! Thank you. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, are you ready ? ”’ 

They went away. Iran at once, of course, to Shatov. 

“ Mon ami!” said Stepan Trofimovitch, overtaking me on 
the steps. ‘‘ Be sure to be at my lodging at ten or eleven o’clock 
when I come back. Oh, I’ve acted very wrongly in my conduct 
to you and to every one.” 


VIII 


I did not find Shatov at home. I ran round again, two hours 
later. He was still out. At last, at eight o’clock I went to him 
again, meaning to leave a note if I did not find him; again I failed 
tofindhim. His lodging was shut up, and he lived alone with- 
out a servant of any sort. I did think of knocking at Captain 


102 THE POSSESSED 


Lebyadkin’s down below to ask about Shatoy; but it was all 
shut up below, too, and there was no sound or light as though the 
place wereempty. I passed by Lebyadkin’s door with curiosity, 
remembering the stories I had heard that day. Finally, I made 
up my mind to come very early next morning. To tell the truth 
I did not put much confidence in the effect of a note. Shatov 
might take no notice of it ; he was so obstinate and shy. Cursing 
my want of success, I was going out of the gate when all at once 
I stumbled on Mr. Kirillov. He was going into the house and he 
recognised me first. As he began questioning me of himself, I told 
him how things were, and that I had a note. 

‘* Let us go in,’ said he, “I will do everything.” 

I remembered that Liputin had told us he had taken the 
wooden lodge in the yard that morning. In the lodge, which was 
too large for him, a deaf old woman who waited upon him was 
living too. The owner of the house had moved into a new 
house in another street, where he kept a restaurant, and this old 
woman, a relation of his, I believe, was left behind to look after 
everything in the old house. The rooms in the lodge were fairly 
clean, though the wall-papers were dirty. In the one we went into 
the furniture was of different sorts, picked up here and there, 
and all utterly worthless. There were two card-tables, a chest of 
drayv ers made of elder, a big deal table that must have come 
from some peasant hut or kitchen, chairs and a sofa with trellis- 
work back and hard leather cushions. In one corner there was 
an old-fashioned ikon, in front of which the old woman had lighted 
a lamp before we came in, and on the walls hung two dingy oil- 
paintings, one, a portrait of the Tsar Nikolas I, painted appa- 
rently between 1820 and 1830; the other the portrait of some 
bishop. Mr. Kirillov lighted a candle and took out of his trunk, 
which stood not’ yet unpacked in a corner, an envelope, sealing- 
wax, and a glass seal. 

‘“‘ Seal your note and address the envelope.’ 

I would have objected that this was unnecessary, but he 
insisted. When [ had addressed the envelope I took my 
cap. 

“T was thinking you’d have tea,” he said. “I have bought 
tea. Will you?”  : 

I could not refuse. The old woman soon brought in the tea, 
that is, a very large tea-pot of boiling water, a little tea-pot full of 
strong tea, two large earthenware cups, coarsely decorated, a’ 
fancy loaf, and a whole deep saucer of lump sugar. 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 103 


“T love tea atnight,” said he. ‘‘I walk much and drink it till 
daybreak. Abroad tea at night is inconvenient.” 

“ You go to bed at daybreak ?”’ 

“ Always ; fora long while. [eat little; alwaystea. Liputin’s 
sly, but impatient.’ 

I was surprised at his aie to talk; I made up my mind 


to take advantage of the opportunity. “ ‘There were VepicAsany 
misunderstandings this morning,’ I observed. 
He scowled. 


“ That’s foolishness ; that’s great nonsense. All this is non- 
sense because Lebyadkin is drunk. I did not tell Liputin, but 
only explained the nonsense, because he got it all wrong. Liputin 
has a great deal of fantasy, he built up a mountain out of non- 
sense. I trusted Liputin yesterday.” 

“ And me to-day ?”’ I said, laughing. 

“But you see, you knew all about it already this morning ; 
Liputin is weak or impatient, or malicious or... he’s 
envious.” 

The last word struck me. 

* You’ve mentioned so many adjectives, however, that it would 
be strange if one didn’t describe him.” 

“ Or all at once.” 

“Yes, and that’s what Liputin really is—he’s a chaos. He 
was lying this morning when he said you were writing something, 
wasn’t he ? 

“ Why should he?’ he said, scowling again and staring at 
the floor. 

[I apologised, and began assuring him that I was not inquisitive. 
He flushed. 

_“ He told the truth; I am writing. Only that’s no matter.” 

We were silent for a minute. He suddenly smiled with the 
childlike smile I had noticed that morning. 

‘“* He invented that about heads himself out of a book, and told 
‘me first himself, and understands badly. But I only seek the 
causes why men dare not kill themselves ; that’s all. And it’s 
all no matter.” 

“How do you mean they don’t dare? Are there so few 
suicides ? ”’ | 

“Very few.” 

“Do you really think so ?” 

_ He made no answer, got up, and began walking to and fro 
lost in thought. : 


104 THE POSSESSED 


‘What is it restrains people from suicide, do you think ?” 
I asked. 

He looked at me absent-mindedly, as though trying to remember 
what we were talking about. 

‘““T . . . I don’t know much yet. . . . Two prejudices restrain 
them, two things; only two, one very little, the other very big.” 

‘‘ What is the little thing ?” 

hy Paint 

“Pain? Can that be of importance at such a moment ? ” 

‘Of the greatest. There are two sorts: those who kill them- 
selves either from great sorrow or from spite, or being mad, or 
no matter what ... they do it suddenly. They think little 
about the pain, but kill themselves suddenly. But some do it 
from reason—they think a great deal.” 

‘‘ Why, are there people who do it from reason ? ” 

“Very many. If it were not for superstition there would be 
more, very many, all.” 

‘© What, all 2” 

He did not answer. 

‘““ But aren’t there means of dying without pain ? ” 

‘“‘ Imagine ’’—he stopped before me—“ imagine a stone as big 
as a great house; it hangs and you are under it; if it falls on 
you, on your head, will it hurt you ?” 

“A stone as big as a house ? Of course it would be fearful.” 

*““T speak not of the fear. Will it hurt ?” 

‘ A stone as big as a mountain, weighing millions of tons? Of 
course it wouldn’t hurt.” 

“ But really stand there and while it hangs you will fear very 
much that it will hurt. The most learned man, the greatest 
doctor, all, all will be very much frightened. Every one will know 
thatit won’t hurt, and every one will be afraid that it will hurt.” 

‘““ Well, and the second cause, the big one ?”’ 

“Fhe other world !”’ 

**You mean punishment ?” 

“That’s no matter. The other world; only the other world.” 

** Are there no atheists, such as don’t believe in the other 
world at all ?” 

Again he did not answer. 

‘““ You judge from yourself, perhaps.” 

‘““ Every one cannot judge except from himself,” he said, 
reddening. ‘‘ There will be full freedom when it will be just. 
the same to live or not to live. That’s the goal for all.” 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 105 


“The goal ? But perhaps no one will care to live then ? ” 

** No one,” he pronounced with decision. 

““ Man fears death because he loves life. That’s how I under- 
stand it,’’ I observed, “‘ and that’s determined by nature.” 

“That's abject; and that’s where the deception comes in.”’ 
His eyes flashed. ‘‘ Life is pain, life is terror, and man is un- 
happy. Now all is pain and terror. Now man loves life, because 
he loves pain and terror, and so they have done according. Life is 
given now for pain and terror, and that’s the deception. Now man 
is not yet what he will be. There will be a new man, happy and 
proud. For whom it will be the same to live or not to live, he will 
be the new man. He who will conquer pain and terror will him- 
self be a god. And this God will not be.” 

“Then this God does exist according to you ?” 

** He does not exist, but He is. In the stone there is no pain, 
but in the fear of the stone is the pain. God is the pain of the fear 
of death. He who will conquer pain and terror will become him- 
selfa god. Then there will be a new life, a new man; everything 
will be new . . . then they will divide history into two parts : 
from the gorilla to the annihilation of God, and from the 
annihilation of God to...” 

“To the gorilla ?” 

“... To the transformation of the earth, and of man 
physically. Man will be God, and will be transformed physically, 
and the world will be transformed and things will be transformed 
and thoughts and all feelings. What do you think: will man 
be changed physically then ? ”’ 

“Tf it will be just the same living or not living, all will kill 
themselves, and perhaps that’s what the change will be ?”’ 

‘“That’s no matter. They will kill deception. Every one who 
wants the supreme freedom must dare to kill himself. He who 
dares to kill himself has found out the secret of the deception. 
There is no freedom beyond ; that is all, and there is nothing 
beyond. He who dares kill himself is God. Now every one 
can do so that there shall be no God and shall be nothing. But 
no one has once done it yet.” 

“There have been millions of suicides.” 

“ But always not for that; always with terror and not for 
that object. Not to kill fear. He who kills himself only to kill 
fear will become a god at once.” 

‘““ He won’t have time, perhaps,” I observed. 

“That’s no matter,’ he answered softly, with calm pride, 


106 THE POSSESSED 


almost disdain. ‘I’m sorry that you seem to be laughing,” he 
added half a minute later. 

‘‘ It seems strange to me that you were so irritable this morning 
and are now so calm, though you speak with warmth.” 

“This morning ?. It was funny this morning,’ he answered 
with a smile. ‘I don’t like scolding, and I never laugh,” he 
added mournfully. 

“Yes, you don’t spend your nights very cheerfully over 
your tea.” 

I got up and took my cap. 

“ You think not ?’”’ he smiled with some surprise. “‘ Why ? 
No, I ...I don’t know.” He was suddenly confused. “I 
know not how it is with the others, and I feel that I cannot do as 
others. Everybody thinks and then at once thinks of something 
else. I can’t think of something else. I think all my life of 
one thing. God has tormented me all my life,’ he ended up 
suddenly with astonishing expansiveness. 

‘* And tell me, if I may ask, why is it you speak Russian not 
quite correctly? Surely you haven't forgotten it after five 
years abroad ?”’ 

“Don’t I speak correctly ? I don’t know. No, it’s not because 
of abroad. I have talked like that all my life . . . it’s no matter 
to me.” 

‘‘ Another question, a more delicate one. I quite believe you 
that you’re disinclined to meet people and talk very little. Why 
have you talked to me now ?”’ 

“To you? This morning you sat so nicely and you. . 
but it’s all no matter . . . you are like my brother, very much, 
extremely,’ he added, flushing. “ He has been dead seven years. 
He was older, very, very much.” 

** T suppose he had a great influence on your way of thinking ? ” 

*“N-no. He said little; he said nothing. I'll give your note.” 

He saw me to the gate with a lantern, to lock it after me. ‘“* Of 
course he’s mad,” I decided. In the gateway I met with 
another encounter, 


Ix 


I had only just lifted my leg over the high barrier across the 
bottom of the gateway, when suddenly a strong hand clutched 
at my chest. 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 107 


*‘ Who’s this ?”’ roared a voice, ‘‘a friend or an enemy ? Own 
up ! PB) 

‘“‘ He’s one of us; one of us!” Liputin’s voice squealed near 
by. “It’s Mr. G Vv, a young man of classical education, in 
touch with the highest society.” 

‘“‘T love him if he’s in society, clas-si ... . that means he’s 
high-ly ed-u-cated. The retired Captain Ignat Lebyadkin, at 
the service of the world and his friends . . . if they’re true ones, 
if they’re true ones, the scoundrels.” 

Captain Lebyadkin, a stout, fleshy man over six feet in height, 
with curly hair and a red face, was so extremely drunk that he 
could scarcely stand up before me, and articulated with difficulty. 
I had seen him before, however, in the distance. 

“And this one!” he roared again, noticing Kirillov, who 
was still standing with the lantern; he raised his fist, but let it fall 
again at once. 

“I forgive you for your learning! Ignat Lebyadkin— 
high-ly ed-u-cated. ... 





‘A bomb of love with stinging smart 
Hzploded in Ignaty’s heart. 
In anguish dire I weep again 
The arm that at Sevastopol 
I lost in bitter pain !’ 


Not that I ever was at Sevastopol, or ever lost my arm, but 
you know what rhyme is.”’ He pushed up to me with his ugly, 
tipsy face. 

“ He is in a hurry, he is going home!” Liputin tried to persuade 
him. “ He'll tell Lizaveta Nikolaevna to-morrow.” 

“ Lizaveta!’’ he yelledagain. “Stay, don’t go! A variation: 


‘Among the Amazons a star, 
Upon her steed she flashes by, 
And smiles upon me from afar, 
The child of aris—to—cra—cy !’ 
To a Starry Amazon. 


You know that’s a hymn. It’s a hymn, if you’re not an ass! 
The duffers, they don’t understand! Stay!” 

He caught hold of my coat, though I pulled myself away with 
ail my might. 
_ “ Tell her I’m a knight and the soul of honour, and as for that 


108 THE POSSESSED © 


Dasha . . . I'd pick her up and chuck her out. . . . She’s only 
a serf, she daren’ th 

At this point he fell down, for I pulled myself violently out of 
his hands and ran into the street. Liputin clung on to me. 

‘“* Alexey Nilitch will pick him up. Do you know what I’ve 
just found out from him?” he babbled in desperate haste. 
‘Did you hear his verses? He’s sealed those verses to the 
‘Starry Amazon’ in an envelope and is going to send them 
to-morrow to Lizaveta Nikolaevna, signed with his name in full. 
What a fellow!” 

‘““T bet you suggested it to him yourself.” 

‘You'll lose your bet,” laughed Liputin. “‘He’s in love, 
in love like a cat, and do you know it began with hatred. He 
hated Lizaveta Nikolaevna at first so much for riding on horse- 
back that he almost swore aloud at her in the street. Yes, he 
did abuse her! Only the day before yesterday he swore at her 
when she rode by—luckily she didn’t hear. And, suddenly, to-day 
—ypoetry !| Do you know he means to risk a proposal? Seriously ! 
Seriously !” 

“TI wonder at you, Liputin; whenever there’s anything nasty 
going on you're always on the spot taking a leading part in it,” 
I said angrily. 

“You're going rather far, Mr. G v. Isn’t your poor little 
heart quaking, perhaps, in terror of a rival ? ”’ 

‘“Wha-at!’’ I cried, standing still. 

“Well, now to punish you I won’t. say anything more, and 
wouldn’t you like to know though ? Take this alone, that that 
lout is not a simple captain now but a landowner of our province, 
and.rather an important one, too, for Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
sold him all his estate the other day, formerly of two hundred 
serfs; and as God’s above, I’m not lying. I’ve only just 
heard it, but it was from a most reliable source. And now 
you can ferret it out for yourself; Ill say nothing more; 
good-bye.” | 





x 


Stepan Trofimovitch was awaiting me with hysterical impa- | 


tience. It was an hour since he had returned. I found him ina 
state resembling intoxication ; for the first five minutes at least 





THE SINS OF OTHERS 109 


I thought he was drunk. Alas, the visit to the Drozdovs had 
been the finishing-stroke. 

“ Monami! Ihavecompletely lost the thread ... Lise... 
I love and respect that angel as before; just as before; but it 
seems to me they both asked me simply to find out something 
from me, that is more simply to get something out of me, and then 
to get rid of me:'. . . That’s how it is.”’ 

“You ought to be ashamed !” I couldn’t help exclaiming. 

“My friend, now I am utterly alone. JLnfin, cest ridicule. 
Would you believe it, the place is positively packed with 
mysteries there too. ‘They simply flew at me about. those 
ears and noses, and some mysteries in Petersburg too. You 
know they hadn’t heard till they came about the tricks Nicolas 
_ played here four years ago. © You were here, you saw it, is it true 
that he is mad?’ Where they got the idea I can’t make out. 
Why is it that Praskovya is so anxious Nicolas should be mad ? 
The woman will have itso, she will. Ce Maurice, or what’s his 
name, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, brave homme tout de méme... 
but can it be for his sake, and after she wrote herself from Paris 
to cetie pauvreamie? .. . Enfin, this Praskovya, as cette chére amie 
calls her, is a type. She’s Gogol’s Madame Box, of immortal 
memory, only she’s a spiteful Madame Box, a malignant Box, 
and in an immensely exaggerated form.”’ 

‘“That’s making her out a regular packing-case if it’s an 
exaggerated form.” 

** Well, perhaps it’s the opposite ; it’s all the same, only don’t 
interrupt me, for I’m allin a whirl. They are all at loggerheads, 
except Lise, she keeps on with her ‘Auntie, auntie!’ but Lise’s 
sly, and there’s something behind it too. Secrets. She has 
quarrelled with the old lady. Cetie pawvre auntie tyrannises over 
‘every one it’s true, and then there’s the governor’s wife, and the 
rudeness of local society, and Karmazinov’s ‘rudeness’; and 
then this idea of madness, ce Iipoutine, ce que je ne comprends pas 
... and... and they say she’s been putting vinegar on her 
head, and here are we with our complaints and letters. . . . Oh, 
how have tormented her and at sucha time! Jesuss un ingrat ! 
Only imagine, I come back and find a letter from her; read it, 
read it! Oh, how ungrateful it was of me!” 

He gave me a letter he had just received from Varvara 
Petrovna. She seemed to have repented of her “ stay at home.” 
The letter was amiable but decided in tone, and brief... She 
invited Stepan Trofimovitch to come to her the day after 


110 THE POSSESSED 


to-morrow, which was Sunday, at twelve o’clock, and advised him 
to bring one of his friends with him. (My name was mentioned in 
parenthesis). She promised on her side to invite Shatov, as the 
brother of Darya Pavlovna. ‘‘ You can obtain a final answer 
from her: will that be enough for you? Is this the formality 
you were so anxious for ?”’ 

‘‘ Observe that irritable phrase about formality. Poor thing, 
poor thing, the friend of my whole life! I confess the sudden 
determination of my whole future almost crushed me... . I 
confess I still had hopes, but now tout est dit. I know now that 
all is over. C’est terrible! Oh, that that Sunday would never 
come and everything would go on in the old way. You would 
_ have gone on coming and I’d have gone on here. . . .” 

‘You've been upset by all those nasty things Liputin said, 
those slanders.”’ 

‘“ My dear, you have touched on another sore spot with your 
friendly finger. Such friendly fingers are generally merciless and 
sometimes unreasonable ; pardon, you may not believe it, but I'd 
almost forgotten all that, all that nastiness, not that I forgot it, 
indeed, but in my foolishness I tried all the while I was with Lise 
to be happy and persuaded myself I was happy. But now... 
Oh, now I’m thinking of that generous, humane woman, so long- 
suffering with my contemptible failings—not that she’s been 
altogether long-suffering, but what have I been with my horrid, 
worthless character! I’m a capricious child, with all the egoism 
of a child and none of the innocence. For the last twenty years 
she’s been looking after me like a nurse, cetie pawvre auntie, as Lise 
so charmingly calls her. . . . And now, after twenty years, the 
child clamours to be married, sending letter after letter, while 
her ‘head’s in a vinegar-compress and . . . now he’s got it— 
on Sunday I shall be a married man, that’s no joke... . And 
why did I keep insisting myself, what did I write those letters for ? 
Oh, I forgot. Lise idolises Darya Pavlovna, she says so anyway ; 
she says of her ‘ c’est un ange, only rather a reserved one.’ They 
both advised me, even Praskovya. .. . Praskovya didn’t advise 
methough. Oh, what venom lies concealed in that ‘Box’! And 
Lise didn’t exactly advise me: ‘What do you want to get married 
for,” she said, ‘ your intellectual pleasures ought to be enough for 
you.’ Shelaughed. I forgive her for laughing, for there’s an ache 
in her own heart. You can’t get on without a woman though, 
they said to me. The infirmities of age are coming upon you, and © 
she will tuck you up, or whatever it is... . Ma foi, I’ve been 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 11] 


thinking myself all this time I’ve been sitting with you that 
Providence was sending her to me in the decline of my stormy 
years and that she would tuck me up, or whatever they callit.. . 
enfin, she’ll be handy for the housekeeping. See what a litter there 
is, look how everything’s lying about. I said it must be cleared up 
this morning, and look at the book on the floor! La pauvre amie 
was always angry at the untidiness here. . . . Ah, nowI shall no 
longer hear her voice! Vzingtans/ And it seems they’ve had 
anonymous letters. Only fancy, it’s said that Nicolas has sold 
Lebyadkin his property. C'est un monstre; et enfin what is 
Lebyadkin ? Lise listens, and listens, ooh, how she listens ! 
I forgave her laughing. I saw her face as she listened, and ce 
Maurice . . . I shouldn’t care to be in his shoes now, brave homme 
tout de méme, but rather shy; but never mind him... .” 

He paused. He was tired and upset, and sat with drooping head, 
staring at the floor with his tired eyes. I took advantage of the 
interval to tell him of my visit to Filipov’s house, and curtly and 
dryly expressed my opinion that Lebyadkin’s sister (whom I had 
never seen) really might have been somehow victimised by Nicolas 
at some time during that mysterious period of his life, as Liputin 
had called it, and that it was very possible that Lebyadkin 
received sums of money from Nicolas for some reason, but that 
was all. As for the scandal about Darya Pavlovna, that was all 
nonsense, all that brute Liputin’s misrepresentations, that this 
was anyway what Alexey Nilitch warmly maintained, and we had 
no grounds for disbelieving him. Stepan Trofimovitch listened 
to my assurances with an absent air, as though they did not 
eoncern him. I mentioned by the way my conversation with 
Kirillov, and added that he might be mad. 

*He’s not mad, but one of those shallow-minded people,” 
he mumbled listlessly. ‘‘ Ces gens-ld supposent la nature et la 
société humaine autres que Dieu ne les a faites et qwelles ne sont 
réellement. People try to make up to them, but Stepan Ver- 
hovensky does not, anyway. Isaw them that time in Petersburg 
avec cette chére amie (oh, how I used to wound her then), and 
{ wasn’t afraid of their abuse or even of their praise. I’m not 


afraid now either. Mais parlons d@autre chose... . I believe I 
have done dreadful things. Only fancy, I sent a letter yester- 
day to Darya Pavlovna and... how I curse myself for 
it!” 


‘What did you write about ?” 
“Oh, my friend, believe me, it was all done in a noble spirit. 


112 THE POSSESSED 


I let her know that I had written to Nicolas five days before, 
also in a noble spirit.”’ 

‘“‘T understand now !”’ I eried with heat. ‘‘ And what right 
had you to couple their names like that ? ” 

‘““ But, mon cher, don’t crush me completely, don’t shout 
at me; as it is I’m utterly squashed like . . . a black-beetle. 
And, after all, I thought it was all so honourable. Suppose that 
something really happened . . . en Suisse . . . or was beginning. 
I was bound to question their hearts beforehand that I. . 
enfin, that I might not constrain their hearts, and be a stumbling- 
block in their paths. I acted simply from honourable feeling.” 

.** Oh, heavens! What a stupid thing you’ve done!”’ I cried 
involuntarily. 

“Yes, yes,” he assented with positive eagerness. “‘ You have 
never said anything more just, c était béte, mais que farre? Tout 
est dit. I shall marry her just the same even if it be to cover 
‘another’s sins.’. So there was no object in writing, was there ? ”’ 

“You're at. that idea again !”’ 

“Oh, you won’t frighten me with your shouts now. You see 
a different Stepan Verhovensky before younow. The man I was 
is buried. Enfin, tout est dit. And why do youcry out? Simply 
because you're not getting married, and you won't have to wear 
a certain decoration on your head, Does that shock you again ? 
My poor friend, you don’t know woman, while I have done 
nothing but study her. ‘If you want to conquer the world, 
conquer yourself’—the one good thing that another romantic 
like you, my bride’s brother, Shatov, has succeeded in saying. 
I would gladly borrow from him his phrase. Well, here I am 
ready to conquer myself, and I’m getting married. And what am 
I conquering by way of the whole world? Oh, my friend, 
marriage is the moral death of every proud soul, of all inde- 
pendence. Married life will corrupt me, it will sap my energy, 
my courage in the service of the cause. Children will come, 
probably not my own either—certainly not my own: a wise 
man is not afraid to face the truth. Liputin proposed. this 
morning putting up barricades to keep out Nicolas; Liputin’s 
a fool. A woman would deceive the all-seeing eye itself. Le 
bon Dieu knew what He was in for when He was creating woman, 
but I’m sure that she meddled in it herself and forced Him to create 
her such as she is . . . and with such attributes : for who would 
have incurred so much trouble for nothing? I know Nastasya ~ 
may be angry with me for free-thinking, but .. . en/in, tout est dit.” 


THE SINS OF OTHERS 113 


He wouldn’t have been himself if he could have dispensed with 
the cheap gibing free-thought which wasin vogue in his day. Now, 
at any rate, he comforted himself with a gibe, but not for long. 

“ Oh, if that day after to-morrow, that Sunday, might never 
come!” he exclaimed suddenly, this time in utter despair. 
‘‘ Why could not this one week be without a Sunday—si le miracle 
existe ? What would it be to Providence to blot out one Sunday 
from the calendar ? If only to prove His power to the athcists 
et que tout soit dit / Ob, how I loved her! ‘Twenty years, these 
twenty years, and she has never understood me! ” 

“But of whom are you talking? Even I don’t understand 
you!” I asked, wondering. 

“Vingt ans/ And she has not once understood me; ch, it’s 
cruel! And can she really believe that I am marrying from fear, 
from poverty? Oh, the shame of it! Oh, Auntie, Auntie, I do 
itforyou! . . . Oh, let her know, that Auntie, that she is the one 
woman I have adored for twenty years! She must learn this, 
ig must be so, if not they will need force to drag me under 
ce qu'on appelle le wedding-crown.”’ 

It was the first time I had heard this confession, and so 
vigorously uttered. I won’t conceal the fact that I was terribly 
tempted to laugh. I was wrong. 

“ He is the only one left me now, the only one, my one hope !”’ 
he cried suddenly, clasping his hands as though struck by a new 
idea. “Only he, my poor boy, can save me now, and, oh, 
why doesn’t he come! Oh, my son, oh, my Petrusha. .. . And 
though I do not deserve the name of father, but rather that of 
tiger, yet . . . Laissez-mor, mon ami, I'll lie down a little, to 
collect my ideas. I am so tired, so tired. And I think it’s time. 
you werein bed. Voyez vous, it’s twelve o’clock... .” 


CHAPTER IV 
THE CRIPPLE 
I 


SHATOV was not perverse but acted on my note, and called at 
midday on Lizaveta Nikolaevna. We went in almost together ; 
I was also going to make my first call. They were all, that is Liza, 
her mother, and Mavriky Nikolaevitch, sitting in the big drawing- 
room, arguing. The mother was asking Liza to play some waltz 
on the piano, and as soon as Liza began to play the piece asked 
for, declared it was not the right one. Mavriky Nikolaevitch in 
the simplicity of his heart took Liza’s part, maintaining that it 
was the right waltz. The elder lady was so angry that she began 
to cry. She was ill and walked with difficulty. Her legs were 
swollen, and for the last few days she had been continually 
fractious, quarrelling with every one, though she always stood 
rather in awe of Liza. They were pleased to see us. Liza flushed 
with pleasure, and saying “‘ merci’ to me, on Shatov’s account 
of course, went to meet him, looking at him with interest. 

Shatov stopped awkwardly in the doorway. Thanking him for 
coming she led him up to her mother. 

“This is Mr. Shatov, of whom I have told you, and this is 
Mr. G——-v, a great friend of mine and of Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch’s. Mavriky Nikolaevitch made his acquaintance yesterday, 
too.” 

“And which is the professor ? ” 

*“There’s no professor at all, maman.”’ 

““ But there is. You said yourself that there’d be a professor. 
It’s this one, probably.’’ She disdainfully indicated Shatov. 

‘“‘T didn’t tell you that there’d be a professor. Mr. G Vv is 
in the service, and Mr. Shatov is a former student.” 

‘““A student or professor, they all come from the university 
just the same. You only want to argue. But the Swiss one had 
moustaches and a beard.” 

‘It’s the son of Stepan Trofimovitch that maman always calls 
the professor,” said Liza, and she took Shatov away to the iss 
at the other end of the drawing-room. 


*“‘ When her legs swell, she’s always like this, you hudewiena | 
1l4 











THE CRIPPLE 115 


she’s ill,’ she whispered to Shatov, still with the same marked 
curiosity, scrutinising him, especially his shock of hair. 

“Are you an officer ?”’ the old lady inquired of me. Liza had 
mercilessly abandoned me to her. 

“N-no. I’m in the service... . 

“Mr. G v is a great friend of Stepan Trofimovitch’s,”’ 
Liza chimed in immediately. 

“Are you in Stepan Trofimovitch’s service? Yes, and he’s 
a professor, too, isn’t he ?”’ 

“Ah, maman, you must dream at night of professors,’ 
Liza with annoyance. 

““T see too many when I’m awake. But you always will contra- 
dict your mother. Were you here four years ago when Nikolay 
_ Vsyevolodovitch was in the neighbourhoad ?”’ 

I answered that I was. 

** And there was some Englishman with you ?” 

*“No, there was not.” 

Liza laughed. 

** Well, you see there was no Englishman, so it must have been 
idle gossip. And Varvara Petrovna and Stepan Trofimovitch 
both tell lies. And they all tell lies.” 

** Auntie and Stepan Trofimovitch yesterday thought there was 
a resemblance between Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch and Prince 
Harry in Shakespeare’s Henry IV, and in answer to that 
maman says that there was no Englishman here,”’ Liza explained 
to us. 

“If Harry wasn’t here, there was no Englishman. It was no 
one else but Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch at his tricks.” 

‘““T assure you that maman’s doing it on purpose,” Liza 
thought necessary to explain to Shatov. ‘‘ She’s really heard of 
Shakespeare. I read her the first act of Othello myself. But 
she’s in great pain now. Maman, listen, it’s striking twelve, 
it’s time you took your medicine.” 

‘“The doctor’s come,”’ a maid-servant announced at the door. 

The old lady got up and began calling her dog: “ Zemirka, 
Zemirka, you come with me at least.” 

Zemirka, a horrid little old dog, instead of obeying, crept under 
the sofa where Liza was sitting. 

“Don’t you want to? Then I don’t want you. Good-bye, 
my good sir, I don’t know your name or your father’s,” she said, 
addressing me, 

~ “ Anton Lavrentyevitch .. .” 


3? 





? 


crred 


116 THE POSSESSED 


‘‘ Well, it doesn’t matter, with me it goes in at one ear and out 
of the other. Don’t you come with me, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, it 
was Zemirka)[ called: Thank God I can still walk without help 
and to-morrow I shall go for a drive.” 

She walked angrily out of the drawing-room. 

‘* Anton Lavrentyevitch, wili you talk meanwhile to Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch ; I assure you you'll both be gainers by getting to 
know one another better,”’ said Liza, and she gave a friendly smile 
to Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who beamed all over as she looked at 
him. There was no help for it, I remained to talk to Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch. 


I 


Lizaveta Nikolaevna’s business with Shatov turned out, to 
my surprise, to be really only concerned with literature. I had 
imagined, I don’t know why, that she had asked him to come with 
some other object. We, Mavriky Nikolaevitch and I that is, 
seeing that they were talking aloud and not trying to hide any- 
thing from us, began to listen, and at last they asked our advice. 
It turned out that Lizaveta Nikolaevna was thinking of bringing 
out a book which she thought would be of use, but being quite in- 
experienced she needed some one to help her. The earnestness 
with which she began to explain her plan to Shatov quite sur- 
prised me. 

“She must be one of the new people,” I thought. “She has 
not been to Switzerland for nothing.”’ 

Shatov listened with attention, his eyes fixed on the ground, 
showing not the slightest surprise that a giddy young lady in 
society should take up work that seemed so out of keeping with 
her. 

Her literary scheme was as follows. Numbers of papers and 
journals are published in the capitals and the provinces of Russia, 
and every day a number of events are reported in them. The 
year passes, the newspapers are everywhere folded up and put 
away in cupboards, or are torn up and become litter, or are used 
for making parcels or wrapping things. Numbers of these facts 
make an impression and are remembered by the public, butin the 
course of years they are forgotten. Many people would like to 


look them up, but it is a labour for them to embark upon this sea of “_ 


paper, often knowing nothing of the day or place or even year in 





THE CRIPPLE 117 


which the incident occurred. Yet if all the facts for a whole 
year were brought together into one book, on a definite plan, 
and with a definite object, under headings with references, 
arranged according to months and days, such a compilation might 
reflect the characteristics of Russian life for the whole year, even 
though the facts published are only a small fraction of the events 
that ‘take place. 

‘‘ Instead of a number of newspapers there would be'a few fat 
books, that’s all,” observed Shatov. 

But Lizaveta Nikolaevna clung to her idea, in spite of the 
difficulty of carrying it out and her inability to describe it. ‘It 
ought to be one book, and not even a very thick one,’ she 
maintained. But even if it were thick it would be clear, for the 
great point would be the plan and the character of the presenta- 
tion of facts. Of course not all would be collected and reprinted. 
The decrees and acts of government, local regulations, laws—all 
such facts, however important, might be altogether omitted 
from the proposed publication. They could leave out a great deal 
and confine themselves to a selection of events more or less 
characteristic of the moral life of the people, of the personal 
character of the Russian people at the present moment. Of 
course everything might be put in: strange incidents, fires, public 
subscriptions, anything good or bad, every speech or word, 
perhaps even floodings of the rivers, perhaps even some govern- 
ment decrees, but only such things to be selected as are charac- 
teristic of the period ; everything would be put in with a certain 
view, a special significance and intention, with an idea which 
would illuminate the facts looked at in the aggregate, as a whole. 
And finally the book ought to’ be interesting even for light 
reading, apart from its value as a work of reference. It would be, 
so to say, a presentation of the spiritual, moral, inner life of 
Russia for a whole year. 

‘““ We want every one-to buy it, we want it to be a book that 
will be found on every table,” Liza declared. “‘I understand 
that all lies in the plan, and that’s why I apply to you,” she 
concluded. She grew very warm over it, and although her 
explanation was obscure and incomplete, Shatov began to 
understand. . 

‘“‘So it would amount to something with a political tendency, 
a selection of facts with a special tendency,’ he muttered, still 
not raising his head. 

“ Not at all, we must not select with a particular bias, and we 


118 THE POSSESSED 


ought not to have any political tendency in it. Nothing but 
impartiality—that will be the only tendency.” 

‘* But a tendency would be no harm,”’ said Shatov, with a slight 
movement, ‘* and one can hardly avoid it if there is any selection 
at all. The very selection of facts will suggest how they are to 
be understood. Your idea is not a bad one.” 

‘Then such a book is possible ?”’ cried Liza delightedly. 

‘“‘ We must look into it and consider. It’s an immense under- 
taking. One can’t work it out on the spur of the moment. We 
need experience. _ And when we do publish the book I doubt 
whether we shall find out how to do it. Possibly after many 
trials ; but the thought is alluring. It’s a useful idea.” 

He raised his eyes at last, and they were positively sparkling 
with pleasure, he was so interested. 

‘‘ Was it your own idea ?”’ he asked Liza, in a friendly and, asit 
were, bashful way. 

‘* The idea’s no trouble, you know, it’s the plan is the trouble,” 
Liza smiled. ‘“‘ I understand very little. I am not very clever, 
and I only pursue what is clear to me, myself. . . .”’ | 

‘* Pursue 3” 

‘‘ Perhaps that’s not the right word ?”’ Liza inquired quickly. 

“ The word is all right ; I meant nothing.” 

“T thought while | was abroad that even I might be of some 
use. Ihave money of my own lying idle. Why shouldn’t I— 
even I—work for the common cause ?. Besides, the idea some- 
how occurred to me all at once of itself. I didn’t invent it at all, 
and was delighted withit. But I saw at once that I couldn’t get 
on without some one to help, because I am not competent to do 
anything of myself. My helper, of course, would be the co-editor 
of the book. We would go halves. You would give the plan and 
the work. Mine would be the original idea and the means for 
publishing it. Would the book pay its expenses, do you think ?”’ 

“ Tf we hit on a good plan the book will go.” 

“I warn you that I am not doing it for profit ; but I am very 
anxious that the book should circulate and should be very proud 
of making a profit.” 

“Well, but how do I come in ?”’ 

“Why, I invite you to be my fellow-worker, to go halves. You 
will think out the plan.” 


“How do you know that I am capable of thinking out the | 


plan 2?” 
*“* People have talked about you to me, and here I’ve heard 





THE CRIPPLE 119 


- . . | know that you are very clever and . . . are working for 
the cause ... and think a great deal. Pyotr Stepanovitch 
Verhovensky spoke about you in Switzerland,” she added 
hurriedly. “‘ He’s a very clever man, isn’t he ? ”’ 

Shatov stole a fleeting, momentary glance at her, but dropped 
his eyes again. 

“ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch told me a great deal about you, 
too.”’ 

Shatov suddenly turned red. 

“But here are the newspapers.” Liza hurriedly picked up 
from a chair a bundle of newspapers that lay tied up ready. 
“Tve tried to mark the facts here for selection, to sort them, 
and I have put the papers together . . . you will see.” 

Shatov took the bundle. 

** Take them home and look at them. Where do you live ?” 

“In Bogoyavlensky Street, Filipov’s house.” 

“I know. I think it’s there, too, I’ve been told, a captain 
lives, beside you, Mr. Lebyadkin,” said Liza in the same hurried 
manner. 

Shatov sat for a full minute with the bundle in his outstretched 
hand, making no answer and staring at the floor. 

“You'd better find some one else for these jobs. I shouldn’t 
suit you at all,”’ he brought out at last, dropping his voice in an 
awtiully strange way, almost to a whisper. 

Liza flushed crimson. 

“What jobs are you speaking of ? Mavriky Nikolaevitch,” 
she cried, ‘‘ please bring that letter here.”’ 

I too followed Mavriky Nikolaevitch to the table. 

“Look at this,” she turned suddenly to me, unfolding the 
letter in great excitement. ‘‘ Have you ever seen anything like 
it. Please read it aloud. I want Mr. Shatov to hear it too.” 

With no little astonishment I read aloud the following missive : 


“To the Perfection, Miss T'ushin. 


“Gracious Lady 
‘‘ Lizaveta Nikolaevna ! 


“Oh, she’s a sweet queen, 
Lizaveta Tushin ! 
When on side-saddle she gallops by, 
And in the breeze her fair tresses fly ! 
Or when with her mother in church she bows low 


120 THE POSSESSED 


And on devout faces a red flush doth flow! 
Then for the joys of lawful wedlock I aspire, 
And follow her and her mother with tears of desire. 


‘Composed by an unlearned man in the midst of a discussion. 
“Gracious Lady! | 

““T pity myself above all men that I did not lose my 
arm at Sevastopol, not having been there at all, but served all 
the campaign delivering paltry provisions, which I look on as 
a degradation. You are a goddess of antiquity, and I am 
nothing, but have had a glimpse of infinity. Look on it as a 
poem and no more, for, after all, poetry is nonsense and justifies 
what would be considered impudence in prose. Can the sun be 
angry with the infusoria if the latter composes verses to her from 
the drop of water, where there is a multitude of them if you look 
through the microscope ? Even the club for promoting humanity 
to the larger animals in tip-top society in Petersburg, which 
rightly feels compassion for dogs and horses, despises the 
brief infusoria making no reference to it whatever, because it is 
not bigenough. I’m not big enough either. The idea of marriage 
might seem droll, but soon I shall have property worth two 
hundred souls through a misanthropist whom you ought to 
despise. I can tell a lot and I can undertake to produce docu- 
ments that would mean Siberia. Don’t despise my proposal. A 

letter from an infusoria is of course in verse. 

‘“* Captain Lebyadkin your most humble friend 
And he has time no end.” 


“That was written by a man in a drunken condition, a worth- 
less fellow,” I cried indignantly. ‘‘ I know him.” 

‘That letter I received yesterday,” Liza began to explain, 
flushing and speaking hurriedly. ‘‘ I saw myself, at once, that it 
came from some foolish creature, and I haven’t yet shown it to 
maman, for fear of upsetting her more. But if he is going to 
keep on like that, I don’t know how to act. Mavriky Nikolaevitch 
wants to go out and forbid him to doit. As I have looked upon 
you as a colleague,” she turned to Shatov, “‘ and as you live there, 
I wanted to question you so as to judge what more is to be 
expected of him.” 

‘‘ He’s a drunkard and a worthless fellow,’’ Shatov muttered 
with apparent reluctance. | 

“Is he always so stupid ?”’ 

“No, he’s not stupid at all when he’s not drunk.” 


THE CRIPPLE 121 


“TI used to know a general who wrote verses exactly like that,’ 
T observed, laughing. 

‘‘One can see from the letter that he is clever enough for his 
own purposes,’ Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who had till then been 
silent, put in unexpectedly. 

“ He lives with some sister ? ”’ Liza queried. 

“Yes, with his sister.” 

“They say he tyrannises over her, is that true ? ” 

Shatov looked at Liza again, scowled, and muttering, ‘‘ What 
business is it of mine ?”” moved towards the door. 

“ Ah, stay !” cried Liza, in a flutter. “‘ Where are you going ? 
We have so much still to talk over... .” 

“What is there to talk over? J’ll let you know to-morrow.” 

“Why, the most important thing of all—the printing-press ! 
Do believe me that I am not in jest, that I really want to work in 
good earnest !”’ Liza assured him in growing agitation. ‘“‘If we 
decide to publish it, where is it to be printed? You know it’s 
a most important question, for we shan’t go to Moscow for 
it, and the printing-press here is out of the question for such a 
publication. I made up my mind long ago to set up a printing- 
press of my own, in your name perhaps,'and I know maman will 
allow it so long as it is in your name... .” 

‘‘ How do you know that I could be a printer ? ” Shatov asked 
sullenly. 

“Why, Pyotr Stepanovitch told me of you in Switzerland, 
and referred me to you as one who knows the business and able 
to set up a printing-press. He even meant to give me a note to 
you from himself, but I forgot it.” 

Shatov’s face changed, as I recollect now. He stood for a few 
seconds longer, then went out of the room. 

Liza was angry. 

“Does he always go out like that ?”’ she asked, turning to me. 

I was just shrugging my shoulders when Shatov suddenly 
came back, went straight up to the table and put down the 
roll of papers he had taken. 

“T’m not going to be your helper, I haven’t the time... . 

“Why? Why? I think you are angry ! !”? Liza asked him i in 
a grieved and imploring voice. 

The sound of her voice seemed to strike him; for some 
moments he looked at her intently, as though trying to penetrate 
to her very soul. 

“No matter,’’ he muttered, softly, “I don’t want to... . 


99 


29 


122 THE POSSESSED 


And he went away altogether. 

Liza was completely overwhelmed, quite disproportionately in 
fact, so it seemed to me. 

‘“‘ Wonderfully queer man,” Mavriky Nikolaevitch observed 


aloud. 


III 


He certainly was queer, but in all this there was a very great 
deal not clear to me. There was something underlying it all. 
I simply did not believe in this publication ; then that stupid 
letter, in which there was an offer, only too barefaced, to give 
information and produce “ documents,’ though they were all 
silent about that, and talked of something quite different ; 
finally that printing-press and Shatov’s sudden exit, just because 
they spoke of a printing-press. All this led me to imagine that 
something had happened before I came in of which I knew 
nothing ; and, consequently, that it was no business of mine 
and that I was in the way. And, indeed, it was time to take 
leave, I had stayed long enough for the first call. I went up 
to say good-bye to Lizaveta Nikolaevna. 

She seemed to have forgotten that I was in the room, and was 
still standing in the same place by the table with her head bowed, 
plunged in thought, gazing fixedly at one spot on the carpet. 

“ Ah, you, too, are going, good-bye,’’ she murmured in an 
ordinary friendly tone. ‘‘ Give my greetings to Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch, and persuade him to come and see me as soon as he can. 
Mavriky Nikolaevitch, Anton Lavrentyevitch is going. Excuse 
maman’s not being able to come out and say good-bye to you... .” 

I went out and had reached the bottom of the stairs when a 
footman suddenly overtook me at the street door. 

“My lady begs you to come back... .” 

‘The mistress, or Lizaveta Nikolaevna ? ” 

“The young lady.” | 

I found Liza not in the big room where we had been sitting, 
but in the reception-room next toit. The door between it and the 
drawing-room, where Mavriky Nikolaevitch was left alone, was 
closed. 

_ Liza smiled to me but was pale. She was standing in the 
middle of the room in evident indecision, visibly struggling with 





THE CRIPPLE 123 


herself; but she suddenly took me by the hand, and led me 
quickly to the window. 

“TI want to see her at once,” she whispered, bending upon me 
a burning, passionate, impatient glance, which would not admit a 
hint of opposition. ‘* I must see her with my own eyes, and I beg 
you to help me.” | 

She was in a perfect frenzy, and—in despair. 

** Who is it you want to see, Lizaveta Nikolaevna ?”’ I inquired 
in dismay. 

“ That Lebyadkin’s sister, that lame girl. . . . Is it true that 
she’s lame ? ”’ 

I was astounded. 

**T have never seen her, but I’ve heard that she’s lame. I 
heard it yesterday,’ I said with hurried readiness, and also in 
a whisper. 

‘“*{ must see her, absolutely. Could you arrange it to-day ?” 

I felt dreadfully sorry for her. 

*“ That’s utterly impossible, and, besides, I should not know 
at all how to set about it,’ I began persuading her. “Tl go 
to Shatov. ...” 

“ If you don’t arrange it by to-morrow I’ll go to her by myself, 
alone, for Mavriky Nikolaevitch has refused. I rest all my hopes 
on you and I’ve no one else; L spoke stupidly to Shatov. ... 
I’m sure that you are perfectly honest and perhaps ready to do 
anything for me, only arrange it.”’ 

I felt a passionate desire to help her in every way. 

“ This is what I'll do,’’ I said, aftera moment’sthought. “ [ll 
go myself to-day and will see her for sure, for sure. I will manage 
so as to see her. I give you my word of honour. Only let me 
confide in Shatov.” 

* Tell him that I do desire it, and that I can’t wait any longer, 
but that I wasn’t deceiving him just now. He went away perhaps 
because he’s very honest and he didn’t like my seeming to 
deceive him. I wasn’t deceiving him, I really do want to edit 
books and found a printing-press. . . .” 

“‘ He is honest, very honest,’’ I assented warmly. 

“Tf it’s not arranged by to-morrow, though, I shall go myself 
whatever happens, and even if every one were to know.” 3 

“I can’t be with you before three o’clock to-morrow,” I 
observed, after a moment’s deliberation. 

_ “ At three o’clock then. Then it was true what I imagined 
yesterday at Stepan Trofimovitch’s, that you—are rather devoted 


124 THE POSSESSED 


to me?” she said with a smile, hurriedly pressing my hand 
to say good-bye, and hurrying back to the forsaken Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch. 

I went out weighed down by my promise, and unable to 
understand what had happened. I had seen a woman in real 
despair, not hesitating to compromise herself by confiding in 
a man she hardly knew. Her womanly smile at a moment so 
terrible for her and her hint that she had noticed my feelings 
the day before sent a pang to my heart; but I felt sorry for her, 
very sorry—that was all! Her secrets became at once something 
sacred for me, and if anyone had begun to reveal them to me now, 
I think I should have covered my ears, and should have refused 
to hear anything more. I only had a presentiment of something 
... yet I was utterly at a loss to see how I could do anything. 
What’s more I did not even yet understand exactly what I had 
to arrange ; an interview, but what sort of an interview ? And 
how could I bring them together? My only hope was Shatov, 
though I could be sure that he wouldn’t help mein any way. But 
all the same, I hurried to him. 


IV 


I did not find him at home till past seven o’clock that evening. 
To my surprise he had visitors with him—Alexey Nilitch, and 
another gentleman I hardly knew, one Shigalov, the brother of 
Virginsky’s wife. 

This gentleman must, I think, have been staying about two 
months in the town; I don’t know where he came from. I had 
only heard that he had written some sort of article in a progressive 
Petersburg magazine. Virginsky had introduced me casually to 
him in the street. JI had never in my life seen in a man’s face so 
much despondency, gloom, and moroseness. He looked as though 
he were expecting the destruction of the world, and not at some 
indefinite time in accordance with prophecies, which might never 
be fulfilled, but quite definitely, as though it were to be the day 
after to-morrow at twenty-five minutes past ten. We hardly 
said a word to one another on that occasion, but had simply 
shaken hands like two conspirators. I was most struck by his 
ears, which were of unnatural size, long, broad, and thick, sticking 
out in a peculiar way. His gestures were slow and awkward, 


THE CRIPPLE 125 


If Liputin had imagined that a phalanstery might be established 
in our province, this gentleman certainly knew the day and the 
hour when it would be founded. He made a sinister impression 
on me. I was the more surprised at finding him here, as Shatov 
was not fond of visitors. 

I could hear from the stairs that they were talking very loud, 
all three at once, and I fancy they were disputing ; but as soon 
as L went in, they all ceased speaking. They were arguing, 
standing up, but. now they all suddenly sat down, so that I had 
to sit down too. There was a stupid silence that was not broken 
for fully three minutes. ‘Though Shigalov knew me, he affected 
not to know me, probably not from hostile feelings, but for no 
particular reason. Alexey Nilitch and I bowed to one another 
in silence, and for some reason did not shake hands. Shigalov 
began at last looking at me sternly and frowningly, with the 
most naive assurance that I should immediately get up and 
go away. At last Shatov got up from his chair and the others 
jumped up at once. They went out without saying good-bye. 
Shigalov only said in the doorway to Shatov, who was seeing 
him out: 

** Remember that you are bound to give an explanation.” 

“ Hang your explanation, and who the devil am I bound to ?” 
said Shatov. He showed them out and fastened the door with 
the latch. 

“Snipes !’’ he said, looking at me, with a sort of wry smile. 

His face looked angry, and it seemed strange to me that he 
spoke first. When I had been to see him before (which was not 
often) it had usually happened that he sat scowling in a corner, 
answered ill-humouredly and only completely thawed and 
began to talk with pleasure after a considerable time. Even so, 
when he was saying good-bye he always scowled, and let one out 
as though he were getting rid of a personal enemy. 

“T had tea yesterday with that Alexey Nilitch,” I observed. 
*‘T think he’s mad on atheism.” 

“‘ Russian atheism has never gone further than making a joke,” 
growled Shatov, putting up a new candle in place of an end that 
had burnt out. 

“‘No, this one doesn’t seem to me a joker, I think he doesn’t: 
know how to talk, let alone trying to make jokes.” 

“Men made of paper! It all comes from flunkeyism of 
thought,”’ Shatov observed calmly, sitting down on a chair in the - 
corner, and pressing the palms of both hands on his knees. 





126 THE POSSESSED 


‘ There’s hatred in it, too,”” he went on, after a minute’s pause. 
*“They’d be the first to be terribly unhappy if Russia could be 
suddenly reformed, even to suit their own ideas, and became 
extraordinarily prosperous and happy. ‘They’d have no one to 
hate then, no one to curse, nothing to find fault with. There 
is nothing in it but an immense animal hatred for Russia which 
has eaten into their organism. . . . And it isn’t a case of tears 
unseen by the world under cover of a smile! There has never 
been a falser word said in Russia than about those unseen 
tears,” he cried, almost with fury. 

“Goodness only knows what you're saying,” I laughed. 

“Oh, you’re a ‘moderate liberal,’”’ said Shatov, smiling too. 
** Do you know,” he went on suddenly, ‘‘ I may have been talking 
nonsense about the ‘ flunkeyism of thought.’ You will say to me 
no doubt directly, ‘it’s you who are the son of a flunkey, but I’m 
not a flunkey.’ ”’ | 

““T wasn’t dreaming of such a thing. ... What are you 
saying !”’ 


“You need not apologise. I’m not afraid of you. Once I — 


was only the son of a flunkey, but now Pve become a flunkey 
myself, like you. Our Russian liberalis a flunkey before every- 
thing, and is only looking for some one whose boots he can clean.”’ 

‘What boots ? What allegory is this ? ”’ 

“Allegory, indeed! You are laughing, I see. . . . Stepan 
Trofimovitch said truly that I lie under a stone, crushed but not 
killed, and do nothing but wriggle. It was a good comparison 
of his.” 

“Stepan Trofimovitch declares that you are mad over the 
Germans,” I laughed. ‘‘We’ve borrowed something from them 
anyway.” 

‘““ We took twenty kopecks, but we gave up a hundred roubles 
of our own.” 

We were silent a minute. 

“‘ He got that sore lying in America.” 

“Who? What sore ?”’ 

“‘T mean Kirillov. I spent four months with him lying on the 
floor of a hut.” | 

“Why, have you been in America?’ I asked, surprised, 
“You never told me about it.” . 

** What is there to tell ? The year before last we spent our last 


farthing, three of us, going to America in an emigrant steamer, 


to test the life of the American workman on ourselves, and to 





THE CRIPPLE 127 


verify by personal experiment the state of a man in the hardest 
social conditions. That was our object in going there.” 

“Good Lord!” I laughed. ‘‘ You’d much better have gone 
somewhere in our province at harvest-time if you wanted to 
‘make a personal experiment ’ instead of bolting to America.”’ 

“We hired ourselves out as workmen to an exploiter; there 
were six of us Russians working for him—students, even land- 
owners coming from their estates, some officers, too, and all with 
the same grand object. Well, so we worked, sweated, wore 
ourselves out; Kirillov and I were exhausted at last; fell ill— 
went away—we couldn’t stand it. Our employer cheated us when 
he paid us off; instead of thirty dollars, as he had agreed, he 
paid me eight and Kirillov fifteen ; he beat us, too, more than 
once. So then we were left without work, Kirillov and I, and we 
spent four months lying on the floor in that little town. He 
thought of one thing and I thought of another.”’ 

“You don’t mean to say your employer beat you ? In America ? 
How you must have sworn at him!” 

“Nota bit of it. On the contrary, Kirillov and I made up our 
minds from the first that we Russians were like little children 
beside the Americans, and that one must be born in America, or 
at least live for many years with Americans to be on a level with 
them. And do you know, if we were asked a dollar for a thing 
worth a farthing, we used to pay it with pleasure, in fact with 
enthusiasm. We approved of everything: spiritualism, lynch- 
law, revolvers, tramps. Once when we were travelling a fellow 
slipped his hand into my pocket, took my brush, and began 
brushing his hair with it. Kirillov and I only looked at one 
another, and made up our minds that that was the right thing 
and that we liked it very much. .. .” 

“The strange thing is that with us all this is not only in the 
brain but is carried out in practice,’’ I observed. 

‘““Men made of paper,’ Shatov repeated. 

‘But to cross the ocean in an emigrant steamer, though, to 
go to an unknown country, even to make a personal experiment 
and all that—by Jove... there really is a large-hearted 
staunchness about it. ... But how did you get out of it ?”’ 

““T wrote to a man in Europe and he sent me a hundred 
roubles.” 

As Shatov talked he looked doggedly at the ground as he 
always did, even when he was excited. At this point he sagt oma tn 
raised his head. 





128 THE POSSESSED 


“Do you want to know the man’s name ?” 

“Who was it ?” 

“ Nikolay Stavrogin.” 

He got up suddenly, turned to his limewood writing-table 
and began searching for something on it. There was a vague, 
though well-authenticated rumour among us that Shatov’s wife 
had at one time had a laison with Nikolay Stavrogin, in Paris, 
and just about two years ago, that is when Shatov was in 
America. It is true that this was long after his wife had ieft 
him in Geneva. 

“Tf so, what possesses him now to bring his name forward and 
to lay stress on it ?”’ I thought. 

“‘T haven’t paid him back yet,’’ he said, turning suddenly 
to me again, and looking at me intently he sat down in the same 
place as before in the corner, and asked abruptly, in quite a 
different voice : : 

“‘ You have come no doubt with some object. What do you 
want ?” 

I told him everything immediately, in its exact historical 
order, and added that though I had time to think it over coolly 
after the first excitement was over, I was more puzzled than 
ever. I saw that it meant something very important to Lizaveta 
Nikolaevna. I was extremely anxious to help her, but the 
trouble was that I didn’t know how to keep the promise I 
had made her, and didn’t even quite understand now what 
I had promised her. Then I assured him impressively once 
more that she had not meant to deceive him, and had 
had no thought of doing so; that there had been some 
misunderstanding, and that she had been very much hurt 
by the extraordinary way in which he had gone off that 
morning. 

He listened very attentively. 

‘“‘ Perhaps I was stupid this morning, as I usually am.... 
Well, if she didn’t understand why I went away like that... 
so much the better for her.” 

He got up, went to the door, opened it, and began listening 
on the stairs. 

“Do you want to see that person yourself 2 ”’ 

“ That’s just what I wanted, but how is it to be done?” I 
cried, delighted. 

‘* Let’s simply go down while she’s alone. When he comes 
in he’ll beat her horribly if he finds out we’ve been there. I 


a 





THE CRIPPLE 129 


often go in on the sly. I went for him this morning when he 
began beating her again.” ! 

‘““ What do you mean ?” 

““T dragged him off her by the hair. He tried to beat me, 
but I frightened him, and so it ended. I’m afraid he'll come 
back drunk, and won’t forget it—he’ll give her a bad beating 
because of it.’ 

We went downstairs at once. 


V 


The Lebyadkins’ door was shut but not locked, and we were 
able to goin. Their lodging consisted of two nasty little rooms, 
with smoke-begrimed walls on which the filthy wail-paper 
literally hung in tatters. It had been used for some years as 
an eating-house, until Filipov, the tavern-keeper, moved to 
another house. The other rooms below what had been the 
eating-house were now shut up, and these two were all the 
Lebyadkins had. ‘The furniture consisted of plain benches and 
deal tables, except for an old arm-chair that had lost its arms. 
In the second room there was the bedstead that belonged 
to Mile. Lebyadkin standing in the corner, covered with a chintz 
quilt ; the captain himself went to bed anywhere on the floor, 
often without undressing. Everything was in disorder, wet and 
filthy ; a huge soaking rag lay in the middle of the floor in the 
first room, and a battered old shoe lay beside it in the wet. 
It was evident that no one looked after anything here. The 
stove was not heated, food was not cooked; they had not 
even a samovar as Shatov told me. The captain had come to 
the town with his sister utterly destitute, and had, as Liputin 
said, at first actually gone from house to house begging. But 
having unexpectedly received some money, he had taken to 
drinking at once, and had become so besotted that he was in- 
capable of looking after things. 

Mile. Lebyadkin, whom I was so anxious to see, was sitting. 
quietly at a deal kitchen table.on a bench in the corner of the 
inner room, not making a sound. When we opened the door 
she did not call out to us or even move from her place. Shatov 
said that the door into the passage would not lock and it had 
once stood wide open all night. By the dim light of a thin 

I 





130 THE POSSESSED 


candle in an iron candlestick, I made out a woman of about 
thirty, perhaps, sickly and emaciated, wearing an old dress of 
dark cotton material, with her long neck uncovered, her scanty 
dark hair twisted into a knot on the nape of her neck, no larger 
than the fist of a two-year-old child. She looked at us rather 
cheerfully. Besides the candlestick, she had on the table in 
front of her a little peasant looking-glass, an old pack of cards, 
a tattered book of songs, and a white roll of German bread from 
which one or two bites had been taken. It was noticeable that 
Mlle. Lebyadkin used powder and rouge, and painted her lips. 
She also blackened her eyebrows, which were fine, long, and black 
enough without that. Three long wrinkles stood sharply con- 
spicuous across her high, narrow forehead in spite of the powder 
on it. I already knew that she was lame, but on this occasion 
she did not attempt to get up or walk. At some time, perhaps 
in early youth, that wasted face may have been pretty ; but her 
soft, gentle grey eyes were remarkable even now. There was 
something dreamy and sincere in her gentle, almost joyful, 
expression. This gentle serene joy, which was reflected also in 
her smile, astonished me after all I had heard of the Cossack 
whip and her brother’s violence. Strange to say, instead of the 
oppressive repulsion and almost dread one usually feels in the 
presence of these ,creatures afflicted by God, I felt it almost 
pleasant to look at her from the first moment, and my heart was 
filled afterwards with pity in which there was no trace of aversion. 

‘* ‘This is how she sits literally for days together, utterly alone, 
without moving; she tries her fortune with the cards, or looks 
in the looking-glass,’”’ said Shatov, pointing her out to me from 
the: doorway. “He doesn’t feed her, you know. The old 
woman in the lodge brings her something sometimes out of 
charity ; how can they leave her all alone like this with a 
candle ! ”’ | 

To my surprise Shatov spoke aloud, just as though she were 
not in the room. 

* Good day, Shatushka ! ”’? Mile. Lebyadkin said genially. 

“Tve brought you a visitor, Marya Timofyevna,” said 
Shatov. 

“‘ The visitor is very welcome. I don’t know who it is you’ve 
brought, I don’t seem to remember him.’’ She scrutinised me 
intently from behind the candle, and turned again at once to | 
Shatov (and she took no more notice of me for the rest of the 
conversation, as though I had not been near her). 


* 





THE CRIPPLE 13] 


_“ Are you tired of walking up and down alone in your garret 2?” 
she laughed, displaying two rows of magnificent teeth. 

“I was tired of it, and 1 wanted to come and see you.” 

Shatovy moved a bench up to the table, sat down on it and 
made me sit beside him, 

“Tm always glad to have a talk, though you’re a funny 
person, Shatushka, just like a monk. When did you comb your 
hair last? Let me do it for you.’ And she pulled a little 
comb out of her pocket, “‘1I don’t believe you've touched it 
since I combed it last.’ 

“Well, I haven’t got a comb,” said Shatov, laughing too. 

“Really ?, Then TV give you. mine; only remind me, not 
this one but another.”’ 

With a most serious expression she set to work to comb his 
hair. She even parted it on one side; drew back a little, 
looked to see whether it was right and put the comb back in her 
pocket. 

‘Do you know what, Shatushka?” She shook her head. 
“You may be a very sensible man but you're dull. It’s strange 
for me to look at all of you. I don’t understand how it is people 
are dull. Sadness is not dullness. I’m happy.” 

‘* And are you happy when your brother’s here ?”’ 

“You mean Lebyadkin? He’s my footman. And I don’t 
care whether he’s here or not. I call to him: ‘ Lebyadkin, — 
bring the water!’ or ‘ Lebyadkin, bring my shoes!’ and he 
runs. Sometimes one does wrong and can’t help laughing at 
him. 

“That’s just how it. is,’ said Shatov, addressing me aloud 
without ceremony. ‘She treats him just like a footman. I’ve 
heard her myself calling to him, ‘ Lebyadkin, give me some 
water!’ And she laughed as she said it. The only difference 
is that he doesn’t fetch the water but beats her for it; but she 
isn’t a bit afraid of him. She has some sort of nervous fits, 
almost every day, and they are destroying her memory so that 
afterwards she forgets everything that’s just happened, and is 
always in a muddle over time. You imagine she remembers 
how you came in; perhaps she does remember, but no doubt 
she has changed everything to please herself, and she takes us 
now for different people from what we are, though she knows I’m 
' ‘Shatushka.’ It doesn’t matter my speaking aloud, she soon 
leaves off listening to people who talk to her, and plunges into 
dreams. Yes, plunges. She’s an extraordinary person for 


132 THE POSSESSED 


dreaming ; she’ll sit for eight hours, for whole days together in 
the same place. You see there’s a roll lying there, perhaps she’s 
only taken one bite at it since the morning, and she’ll finish it 
to-morrow. Now she’s begun trying her fortune on cards. . . .” 

‘“‘T keep trying my fortune, Shatushka, but it doesn’t come out 
right,’’ Marya Timofyevna put in suddenly, catching the last 
word, and without looking at it she put out her left hand for 
the roll (she had heard something about the roll too very likely). 
She got hold of the roll at last and after keeping it for some time 
in her left hand, while her attention was distracted by the 
conversation which sprang up again, she put it back again on 
the table unconsciously without having taken a bite of it. 

“It always comes out the same, a journey, a wicked man, 
somebody’s treachery, a death-bed, a letter, unexpected news. 
I think it’s all nonsense. Shatushka, what do you think ? 
If people can tell lies why shouldn’t a card?” She suddenly 
threw the cards together again. “I said the same thing to 
Mother Praskovya, she’s a very venerable woman, she used to 
run to my cell to tell her fortune on the cards, without letting 
the Mother Superior know. Yes, and she wasn’t the only one 
who came to me. They sigh, and shake their heads at me, 
they talk it over while I laugh. ° Where are you going to get 
a letter from, Mother Praskovya,’ I say, ‘ when you haven’t had 
one for twelve years?’ Her daughter had been taken away to 
Turkey by her husband, and for twelve years there had been no 
sight nor sound of her. Only I was sitting the next evening at tea 
with the Mother Superior (she was a princess by birth), there was 
some lady there too, a visitor, a great dreamer, and a little monk 
from Athos was sitting there too, a rather absurd man to my 
thinking. What do you think, Shatushka, that monk from 
Athos had brought Mother Praskovya a letter from her daughter 
in Turkey, that morning—so much for the knave of diamonds— 
unexpected news! We were drinking our tea, and the monk 
from Athos said to the Mother Superior, ‘ Blessed Mother 
Superior, God has blessed your convent above all things in that 
you preserve so great a treasure in its precincts,’ said he. ‘ What 
treasure is that ?’ asked the Mother Superior. ‘The Mother 
Lizaveta, the Blessed.’ This Lizaveta the Blessed was en- 
shrined in the nunnery wall, in a cage seven feet long and five 
feet high, and she had been sitting there for seventeen years 
in nothing but a hempen shift, summer and winter, and she © 
always kept pecking at the hempen cloth with a straw or a twig of 


THE CRIPPLE 133 


some sort, and she never said a word, and never combed her hair, 
or washed, for seventeen years. In the winter they used to put 
a sheepskin in for her, and every day a piece of bread and a jug 
of water. The pilgrims gaze at her, sigh and exclaim, and make 
offerings of money. ‘A treasure you’ve pitched on,’ answered 
the Mother Superior—(she was angry, she disliked Lizaveta 
dreadfully)—‘ Lizaveta only sits there out of spite, out of pure 
obstinacy, it is nothing but hypocrisy.’ I didn’t like this; I 
was thinking at the time of shutting myself up too. ‘I think,’ 
said I, ‘that God and nature are just the same thing.’ They 
all cried out with one voice at me, ‘ Well, now!’ The Mother 
Superior laughed, whispered something to the lady and 
called me up, petted me, and the lady gave me a pink ribbon. 
Would you like me to show it to you? And the monk began to 
admonish me. But he talked so kindly, so humbly, and so 
wisely, I suppose. I sat and listened. ‘Do you understand ?’ 
he asked. ‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t understand a word, but leave 
me quite alone.’ Ever since then they’ve left me in peace, 
Shatushka. And at that time an old woman who was living 
in the convent doing penance for prophesying the future, 
whispered to me as she was coming out of church, ‘ What is the 
mother of God? What do you think?’ ‘The great mother,’ 
I answer, ‘ the hope of the human race.’ ‘ Yes,’ she answered, 
“the mother of God is the great mother—the damp earth, and 
therein lies great joy for men. And every earthly woe and 
every earthly tear is a joy for us ; and when you water the earth 
with your tears a foot deep, you will rejoice at everything at 
once, and your sorrow will be no more, such is the prophecy.’ 
That word sank into my heart at the time. Since then when I 
bow down to the ground at my prayers, I’ve taken to kissing 
the earth. I kissit and weep. And let me tell you, Shatushka, 
there’s no harm in those tears; and even if one has no grief, 
one’s tears flow from joy. The tears flow of themselves, that’s 
the truth. I used to go out to the shores of the lake; on one 
side was our convent and on the other the pointed mountain, 
they called it the Peak. I used to go up that mountain, facing 
the east, fall down to the ground, and weep and weep, and I 
don’t know how long I wept, and I don’t remember or know 
anything about it. I would get up, and turn back when the sun 
was setting, it was so big, and splendid and glorious—do you 
like looking at the sun, Shatushka? It’s beautiful but sad. 
I would turn to the east again, and the shadow, the shadow 


134 _ THE POSSESSED 


of our mountain was flying like an arrow over our lake, long, 
long and narrow, stretching a mile beyond, right up to the 
island on the lake and cutting that rocky island right in two, and 
as it cut it in two, the sun would set altogether and suddenly 
all would be darkness. And then I used to be quite miserable, 
suddenly I used to remember, I’m afraid of the dark, Shatushka. 
And what I wept for most was my baby. .. .” 

‘“ Why, had you one?”’ And Shatov, who had been listening 
attentively all the time, nudged me with his elbow. 

“Why, of course. <A little rosy baby with tiny little nails, 
and my only grief is I can’t remember whether it was a boy or 
a girl. Sometimes I remember it was a boy, and sometimes it 
was a girl. And when he was born, I wrapped him in cambric 
and lace, and put pink ribbons on him, strewed him with flowers, 
got him ready, said prayers over him. I took him away un- 
christened and carried him through the forest, and I was afraid 
of the forest, and I was frightened, and what I weep for most is 
that I had a baby and I never had a husband.”’ 

** Perhaps you had one ?’”’ Shatov queried cautiously.” 

*You’re absurd, Shatushka, with your reflections. I had, 
perhaps I had, but what’s the use of my having had one, if it’s 
just the same as though I hadn’t. There’s an easy riddle for 
you. Guess it!’ she laughed. ; 

** Where did you take your baby ? ” 

“ T took it to the pond,” she said with a sigh. 

Shatov nudged me again. 

** And what if you never had a baby and all this is ons a 
wild dream ?”’ 

““You ask me a hard question, Shatushka,’”’ she answered 
dreamily, without a trace of surprise at such a question. “I 
can’t tell you anything about that, perhaps I hadn’t; I think 
that’s only your curiosity. I shan’t leave off crying for him 
anyway, I couldn’t have dreamt it.’ And big tears glittered 
in her eyes. ‘‘Shatushka, Shatushka, is it true that your wife 
ran away from you ?”’ 

She suddenly put both hands on his shoulders, and looked 
at him pityingly. ‘Don’t be angry, I feel sick myself. 
Do you know, Shatushka, ve had a dream: he came to 
me again, he beckoned me, called me. ‘ My little puss,’ he 
cried to me, ‘little puss, come to me!’ And I was more ~ 
delighted at that ‘little puss’ than anything; he loves me,I 
thought.” | 





THE CRIPPLE 135 


* Perhaps he will come in reality,’ Shatov muttered in an 
undertone. 

““No, Shatushka, that’s a dream. ... He can’t come in 
reality. You know the song: 


“A new fine house I do not crave, 
This tuny cell ’s enough for me ;- 
There will I dwell my soul to save 
And ever pray to God for thee.’ 


Ach, Shatushka, Shatushka, my dear, why do you never ask 
me about anything 2?” 

“Why, you won't tell. That’s why I don’t ask.”’ 

“I won't tell, I won’t tell,’’ she answered quickly. ‘ You 
may kill me, I won’t tell. You may burn me, I won't tell. 
And whatever I had to bear I’d never tell, people won’t find 
out!” 

“There, you see. Every one has something of their own,” 
Shatov said, still more softly, his head drooping lower and lower. 

“ But if you were to ask perhaps I should tell, perhaps I 
should!” she repeated ecstatically. ‘“‘Why don’t you ask ? 
Ask, ask me nicely, Shatushka, perhaps I chall tell you. Entreat 
me, Shatushka, so that I shall consent of myself. Shatushka, 
Shatushka !” 

But Shatushka was silent. There was complete silence 
lasting a minute. -Tears slowly trickled down her painted 
cheeks. She sat forgetting her two hands on Shatov’s shoulders, 
but no longer looking at him. 

“Ach, what is it to do with me, and it’s a sin.” Shatov 
suddenly got up from the bench. 

“Get up!” He angrily pulled the bench from under me 
and put it back where it stood before. 

‘“ He'll be coming, so we must mind he doesn’t guess. It’s. 
time we were off.” 

_“ Ach, you're talking of my footman,’ Marya Timofyevna. 
laughed suddenly. ‘“ You’re afraid of him. Well, good-bye, 
dear visitors, but listen for one minute, I’ve something to tell 
you. That Nilitch came here with Filipov, the landlord, a red 
beard, and my fellow had flown at me just then, so the landlord 
caught hold of him and pulled him about the room while he 
shouted ‘It’s not my fault, ’m suffering for another man’s 
sin!’ So would you believe it, we all burst out laughing. . . .” 
* Ach, Timofyevna, why it was I, not the red beard, it was 


136 THE POSSESSED 


I pulled him away from you by his hair, this morning; the 
landlord came the day before yesterday to make a row; you've 
mixed it up.” 

“Stay, I really have mixed it up. Perhaps it was you. 
Why dispute about trifles? What does it matter to him who 
it is gives him a beating ?”’ She laughed. | 

‘““Come along!’ Shatov pulled me. “ The gate’s creaking, 
he’ll find us and beat her.”’ 

And before we had time to run out on to the stairs we heard 
a drunken shout and a shower of oaths at the gate. 

Shatov let me into his room and locked the door. 

“You'll have to stay a minute if you don’t want a scene. 
He’s squealing like a little pig, he must have stumbled over the 
gate again. He falls flat every time.” 

We didn’t get off without a scene, however. 


VI 


Shatov stood at the closed door of his room and listened ; 
suddenly he sprang back. 

‘“ He’s coming here, I knew he would,” he whispered furiously. 
** Now there’ll be no getting rid of him till midnight.” 

Several violent thumps of a fist on the door followed. 

‘“Shatov, Shatov, open!” yelled the captain. ‘“‘ Shatov, 
bgt 18 BUPA 


‘I have come to thee to tell thee 
That the sun doth r-r-rise apace, 
That the forest glows and tr-r-rembles 
In... the fireof... his... embrace. 
Tell thee I have waked, God damn thee, 
Wakened under the birch-twigs. . . .’ 


(‘‘ As it might be under the birch-rods, ha ha!”’) 


‘ Every litile bird . .'. is... thirsty, 
Says I’m going to ... . have a drink, 
But I don’t . . . know what to drink. . . 2 


Damn his stupid curiosity! Shatov, do you understand how 
good it is to be alive!” : 
“ Don’t answer !’’ Shatov whispered to me again. 


THE CRIPPLE 137 


“Open the door! Do you understand that there’s something 
higher than brawling . . . in mankind; there are moments of 
an hon-hon-honourable man. ... Shatov, I’m good; I'll 
forgive you. ... Shatov, damn the manifestoes, eh ?”’ 

Silence. 

‘Do you understand, you ass, that I’m in love, that I’ve 
bought a dress-coat, look, the garb of love, fifteen roubles ; 
a captain’s love calls for the niceties of style. ... Open the 
door!” he roared savagely all of a sudden, and he began 
furiously banging with his fists again. 

“ Go to hell!’ Shatov roared suddenly. 

“$-s-slave! Bond-slave, and your sister’s a slave, a bonds- 
Romer. Lidth ont tht, 6 sheet 

** And you sold your sister.”’ 

“That's a lie! I put up withthelibelthough. I could with 
one word . . . do you understand what she is ?.”’ 

“What ?”’ Shatov at once drew near the door inquisitively. 

* But will you understand ? ”’ 

“Yes, I shall understand, tell me what ?”’ 

“Tm not afraid to say! I’m never afraid to say anything 
“im publieg ois 77 

“You not afraid? A likely story,” said Shatov, taunting 
him, and nodding to me to listen. 

“* Me afraid ? ”’ 

“Yes, I think you are.” 

** Me afraid ? ”’ 

“Well then, tell away if you’re not afraid of your master’s 
whip. ... Youre a coward, though you are a captain!” 

pink oer hy tgs she’s\ suru ishe’ss;! J.’ faltered Lebyadkin in 
a voice shaking with excitement. 

“Well?” Shatov put his ear to the door. 

A silence followed, lasting at least half a minute. 

‘“‘Sc-ou-cundrel!”’ came from the other side of the door 
at last, and the captain hurriedly beat a retreat downstairs, 
puffing like a samovar, stumbling on every step. 

‘Yes, he’s a sly one, and won’t give himself away even when 
he’s drunk.” 

Shatov moved away from the door. 

‘“ What’s it all about ?”’ I asked. 

Shatov waved aside the question, opened the door and began 
listening on the stairs again. He listened a long while, and 
even stealthily descended a few steps. At last he came back. 


138 - THE POSSESSED 


‘““There’s nothing to be heard; he isn’t beating her; he must | 
have flopped down at once to go to sleep. It’s time for you to 
go.” 

* Listen, Shatov, what am I to gather from all this ?” 
“Oh, gather what you like!” he answered in a weary and 
disgusted voice, and he sat down to his writing-table. 

I went away. An improbable idea was growing stronger and 
strongerin my mind. I thought of the next day with distress. ... 


VII 


This “‘next day,” the very Sunday which was to decide 
Stepan Trofimovitch’s fate irrevocably, was one of the most 
memorable days in my chronicle. It was a day of surprises, a 
day that solved past riddles and suggested new ones, a day of 
startling revelations, and still more hopeless perplexity. In the 
morning, as the reader is already aware, I had by Varvara 
Petrovna’s particular request to accompany my friend on his 
visit to her, and at three o’clock in the afternoon I had to be 
with Lizaveta Nikolaevna in order to tell her—I did not know 
what—and to assist her—I did not know how. And meanwhile 
it all ended as no one could have expected. In a word, it was 
a day of wonderful coincidences. 

To begin with, when Stepan Trofimovitch and I arrived at 
Varvara Petrovna’s at twelve o’clock punctually, the time she 
had fixed, we did not find her at home; she had not yet come 
back from church. My poor friend was so disposed, or, more 
accurately speaking, so indisposed that this circumstance 
crushed him at once; he sank almost helpless into an arm-chair 
in the drawing-room. I suggested a glass of water; but in spite 
of his pallor and the trembling of his hands, he refused it with 
dignity. His get-up for the occasion was, by the way, extremely 
recherché: ashirt of batiste and embroidered, almost fit for a ball, 
a white tie, a new hat in his hand, new straw-coloured gloves, 
and even a suspicion of scent. We had hardly sat down when 
Shatov was shown in by the butler, obviously also by official 
invitation. Stepan Trofimovitch was rising to shake hands 
with him, but Shatov, after looking attentively at us both, 
turned away into a corner, and sat down there without even 


‘THE CRIPPLE 139 


nodding to us. Stepan Trofimovitch looked at me in dismay 
again. 

We sat like this for some minutes longer in complete silence. 
Stepan Trofimovitch suddenly began whispering something to 
me very quickly, but I could not catch it ; and indeed, he was so 
agitated himself that he broke off without finishing. The butler 
came in once more, ostensibly to set something straight on the 
table, more probably to take a look atus. 

Shatov suddenly addressed him with a loud question : 

_ “Alexey Yegorytch, do you know whether Darya Pavlovna 
has gone with her ? ”’ 

“Varvara Petrovna was pleased to drive to the cathedral 
alone, and Darya Pavlovna was pleased to remain in her room 
upstairs, being indisposed,’”’ Alexey Yegorytch announced 
formally and reprovingly. 

My poor friend again stole a hurried and agitated glance at 
me, so that at last I turned away from him. Suddenly a carriage 
rumbled at the entrance, and some commotion at a distance 
in the house made us aware of the lady’s return. We all leapt 
up from our easy chairs, but again a surprise awaited us; we 
heard the noise of many footsteps, so our hostess must have 
returned not alone, and this certainly was rather strange, since 
she had fixed that time herself. Finally, we heard some one 
come in with strange rapidity as though running, in a way 
that Varvara Petrovna could not have come in. And, all 
at once she almost flew into the room, panting and extremely 
agitated. After her a little later and much more quickly 
Lizaveta Nikolaevna came in, and with her, hand in hand, 
Marya Timofyevna Lebyadkin! If I had seen this in my 
dreams, even then I should not have believed it. 

To explain their utterly unexpected appearance, I must 
go back an hour and describe more in detail an extraordinary 
adventure which had befallen Varvara Petrovna in church. 

In the first place almost the whole town, that is, of course, 
all of the upper stratum of society, were assembled in the 
cathedral. It was known that the governor’s wife was to make 
her appearance there for the first time since her arrival amongst 
us. I must mention that there were already rumours that she 
was a free-thinker, and a follower of “the new principles.” 
All the ladies were also aware that she would be dressed with 
magnificence and extraordinary elegance. And so the costumes 
of our ladies were elaborate and gorgeous for the occasion. 


140 THE POSSESSED 


Only Varvara Petrovna was modestly dressed in black as she 
always was, and had been for the lastfour years. She had taken 
her usual place in church in the first row on the left, and a foot- 
man in livery had put down a velvet cushion for her to kneel on ; 
everything in fact, had been as usual. But it was noticed, too, 
that all through the service she prayed with extreme fervour. It 
was even asserted afterwards when people recalled it, that she 
had had tears in her eyes. The service was over at last, and 
our chief priest, Father Pavel, came out to deliver a solemn 
sermon. We liked his sermons and thought very highly of them. 
We used even to try to persuade him to print them, but he 
never could make up his mind to. On this occasion the sermon 
was a particularly long one. 

And behold, during the sermon alady drove up to the church 
in an old fashioned hired droshky, that is, one in which the lady 
could only sit sideways, holding on to the driver’s sash, shaking 
at every jolt like a blade of grass in the breeze. Such droshkys 
are still to be seen in our town. Stopping at the corner of the 
cathedral—for there were a number of carriages, and mounted 
police too, at the gates—the lady sprang out of the worn and 
handed the driver four kopecks in silver. 

“Isn't it enough, Vanya?’ she cried, seeing his grimace. 
“It’s all I’ve got,” she added plaintively. 

‘4 Well, there, bless you. I took you without fixing the 
price,” said the driver with a hopeless gesture, and looking at 
her he added as though reflecting : 

‘‘ And it would be a sin to take advantage of you too.” 

Then, thrusting his leather purse into his bosom, he touched 
up his horse and. drove off, followed by the jeers of the drivers 
standing near. Jeers,and wonder too, followed the lady as she 
made her way to the cathedral gates, between the carriages 
and the footmen waiting for their masters to come out. And 
indeed, there certainly was something extraordinary and sur- 
prising to every one in such a person’s suddenly appearing in the 
street among people. She was painfully thin and she limped, she 
was heavily powdered and rouged; her long neck was quite 
bare, she had neither kerchief nor pelisse ; she had nothing on 
but an old dark dress in spite of the cold and windy, though 
bright, September day. She was bareheaded, and her hair 
was twisted up into a tiny knot, and on the right side of it was 
stuck an artificial rose, such as are used to dedicate cherubs 
sold in Palm week. I had noticed just such a one with a wreath 


THE CRIPPLE 14} 


of paper roses in a corner under the ikons when I was at Marya 
Timofyevna’s the day before. To put a finishing-touch to it, 
though the lady walked with modestly downcast eyes there was 
a sly and merry smile on her face. If she had lingered a moment 
longer, she would perhaps not have been allowed to enter the 
cathedral. But she succeeded in slipping by, and entering the 
building, gradually pressed forward. 

Though it was half-way through the sermon, and the dense 
crowd that filled the cathedral was listening to it with absorbed 
and silent attention, yet several pairs of eyes glanced with 
curiosity and amazement at the new-comer. She sank on to the 
floor, bowed her painted face down to it, lay there a long time, 
unmistakably weeping ; but raising her head again and getting up: 
from her knees, she soon recovered, and wasdiverted. Gaily and 
with evident and intense enjoyment she let her eyes rove over the 
faces, and over the walls of the cathedral. She looked with par- 
ticular curiosity at some of the ladies, even standing on tip-toe to 
look at them, and even laughed once or twice, giggling strangely. 
But the sermon was over, and they brought out the cross. The 
governor’s wife was the first to go up to the cross, but she stopped 
short two steps from it, evidently, wishing to make way for Varvara 
Petrovna, who, on her side, moved towards it quite directly as. 
though she noticed no one in front of her. There was an 
obvious and, in its way, clever malice implied in this extra- 
ordinary act of deference on the part of the governor’s wife ; 
every one felt this; Varvara Petrovna must have felt it too ;. 
but she went on as before, apparently noticing no one, and with 
the same unfaltering air of dignity kissed the cross, and at once: 
turned to leave the cathedral. A footman in livery cleared the 
way for her, though every one stepped back spontaneously to: 
let her pass. But just as she was going out, in the porch the 
closely packed mass of people blocked the way for a moment. 
Varvara Petrovna stood still; and suddenly a strange, extra- 
ordinary creature, the woman with the paper rose on her head, 
squeezed through the people, and fell on her knees before her.. 
Varvara Petrovna, who was not easily disconcerted, especially 
in public, looked at her sternly and with dignity. 

I hasten to observe here, as briefly as possible, that though: 
Varvara Petrovna had become, it was said, excessively careful 
and even stingy, yet sometimes she was not sparing cf money, 
especially for benevolent objects. She was a member of a. 
charitable society in the capital. In the last famine year she: 


142 THE POSSESSED 


had sent five hundred roubles to the chief committee for the 
relief of the sufferers, and people talked of it in the town. 
Moreover, just before the appointment of the new governor, 
she had been on the very point of founding a local committee 
of ladies to assist the poorest mothers in the town and in the 
province. She was severely censured among us for ambition ; 
but Varvara Petrovna’s well-known strenuousness and, at the 
same time, her persistence nearly triumphed over all obstacles. 
The society was almost formed, and the original idea embraced 
a wider and wider scope in the enthusiastic mind of the foundress, 
She was already dreaming of founding a similar society’ in 
Moscow, and the gradual expansion of its influence over all the 
provinces of Russia. And now, with the sudden change of 
governor, everything was at a standstill ; and the new governor’s 
wife had, it was said, already uttered in society some biting, 
and, what was worse, apt and sensible remarks about the im- 
practicability of the fundamental idea of such a committee, 
which was, with additions of course, repeated to Varvara 
Petrovna. God alone knows the secrets of men’s hearts; but 
I imagine that Varvara Petrovna stood still now at the very 
cathedral gates positively with a certain pleasure, knowing 
that the governor’s wife and, after her, all the congregation, 
would have to pass by immediately, and “ let her see for herself 
how little I care what she thinks, and what pointed things she 
says about the vanity of my benevolence. So much for all of 
you!” 

‘‘ What is it my dear? What are you asking ?”’ said Varvara 
‘Petrovna, looking more attentively at the kneeling woman 
‘before her, who gazed at her with a fearfully panic-stricken, 
shame-faced, but almost reverent expression, and suddenly 
broke into the same strange giggle. 

‘‘ What does she want ? Who is she ?”’ 

Varvara Petrovna bent an imperious and inquiring gaze on 
ail around her. Every one was silent. 

“You are unhappy ? You are in need of help ?” 

““T am in need. ... I have come .....’ faltered the ‘ un- 
happy” creature in a voice broken with emotion. “‘I have 
come only to kiss your hand... .” 

Again she giggled. With the childish look with which little 
children caress some one, begging for a favour, she stretched 
‘forward to seize Varvara Petrovna’s hand, but, as though 
-panic-stricken, drew her hands. back, 


a 


THE CRIPPLE) 143 


‘Is that all you have come for ?.”’ said Varvara Petrovna, 
with a compassionate smile; but at once she drew her mother- 
of-pearl purse out of her pocket, took out a ten-rouble note 
and gave it to the unknown. The latter took it. Varvara 
Petrovna was much interested and evidently did not look upon 
her as an ordinary low-class beggar. 

‘“‘T say, she gave her ten roubles!” some one said in the 
crowd. 

“Let me kiss your hand,” faltered the unknown, holding 
tight in the fingers of her left hand the corner of the ten-rouble 
note, which fluttered in the draught. Varvara Petrovna 
frowned slightly, and with a serious, almost severe, face held out 
her hand. The cripple kissed it with reverence. Her grateful 
eyes shone with positive ecstasy. At that moment the governor’s 
wife came up, and a whole crowd of ladies and high officials 
flocked after her. The governor’s wife was forced to stand still 
for a moment in the crush ; many people stopped. 

“You are trembling. Are you cold?” Varvara Petrovna 
observed suddenly, and flinging off her pelisse which a footman 
caught in mid-air, she took from her own shoulders a very 
expensive black shawl, and with her own hands wrapped it 
round the bare neck of the still kneeling woman. 

‘“* But get up, get up from your knees I beg you!” 

The woman got up. 

“Where do you live? Is it possible no one knows where 
she lives?” Varvara Petrovna glanced round impatiently 
again. But the crowd was different now: she saw only the 
faces of acquaintances, people in society, surveying the scene, 
some with severe astonishment, others with sly curiosity and 
at the same time guileless eagerness for a sensation, while others 
positively laughed. 

“I believe her name’s Lebyadkin,” a good-natured person 
volunteered at last in answer to Varvara Petrovna. It was our 
respectable and respected merchant Andreev, a man in spectacles 
with a grey beard, wearing Russian dress and holding a high 
round hat in his hands. “ They live in the Filipovs’ house in 
_ Bogoyavlensky Street.” 

“ Lebyadkin ? Filipovs’ house? I have heard something. ... 
Thank you, Nikon Semyonitch.. But who is this Lebyadkin ¢” 

“ He calls himself a captain, a man, it must be said, not over 
careful in his behaviour. And no doubt this is his sister. She 
must have escaped from under control,’ Nikon Semyonitch 


144 THE POSSESSED 


went on, dropping his voice, and glancing significantly at Varvara 
Petrovna. | 

‘“‘T understand. Thank you, Nikon Semyonitch. Your name 
is Mile. Lebyadkin ? ” 

‘‘ No, my name’s not Lebyadkin.”’ 

‘Then perhaps your brother’s name is Lebyadkin ? ” 

** My brother’s name is Lebyadkin.”’ 

“This is what I'll do, Pll take you with me now, my dear, 
and you shall be driven from me to your family. Would you 
like to go with me ?”’ 

‘“‘ Ach, I should !”’ cried Mlle. Lebyadkin, clasping her hands. 

‘‘ Auntie, auntie, take me with you too!” the voice of Lizaveta 
Nikolaevna cried suddenly. 

I must observe that Lizaveta Nikolaevna had come to the 
cathedral with the governor’s wife, while Praskovya Ivanovna 
had by the doctor’s orders gone for a drive in her carriage, 
taking Mavriky Nikolaevitch to entertain her. Liza suddenly 
left the governor’s wife and ran up to Varvara Petrovna. 

‘“‘ My dear, you know I’m always glad to have you, but what 
will your mother say ?”’ Varvara Petrovna began majestically, 
but she became suddenly confused, noticing Liza’s extraordinary 
agitation. 

‘‘ Auntie, auntie, 1 must come with you!” Liza implored, 
kissing Varvara Petrovna. 

‘““ Mais qu’avez vous donc, Lise?” the governor’s wife asked 
with expressive wonder. 

‘* Ah, forgive me, darling, chére cousine, I’m going to auntie’s.”’ 

Liza turned in passing to her unpleasantly surprised chére 
cousine, and kissed her twice. 

‘“* And tell maman to follow me to auntie’s directly ; maman 
meant, fully meant to come and see you, she said so this morning 
herself, I forgot to tell you,” Liza pattered on. “I beg your 
pardon, don’t be angry, Julie, chére . . . cowsine.... Auntie, 
I’m ready !”’ 

“Tf you don’t take me with you, auntie, I'll run after your 
carriage, screaming,” she whispered rapidly and despairingly in 
Varvara Petrovna’s ear; it was lucky that no one heard. 
Varvara Petrovna positively staggered back, and bent her 
penetrating gaze on the mad girl. That gaze settled everything. 
She made up her mind to take Liza with her. 

‘“‘ We must put an end to this!’ broke from her lips. ‘ Very — 
well, Pll take you with pleasure, Liza,” she added aloud, “if 


THE CRIPPLE 145 


Yulia Mihailovna is willing to let you come, of course.” With 
a candid air and straightforward dignity she addressed the 
governor’s wile directly. 

“ Oh, certainly, I don’t want to deprive her of such a pleasure 
especially as Iam myself...” Yulia Mihailovna lisped with 
amazing affability—‘‘ I myself . . . know well what a fantastic, 
wilful little head itis !’’ Yulia Mihailovna gave a charming smile. 

‘“] thank you extremely,” said Varvara Petrovna, with a 
courteous and dignified bow. 

“And I am the more gratified,’ Yulia Mihailovna went on, 
lisping almost rapturously, flushing all over with agreeable 
excitement, “that, apart from the pleasure of being with you 
Liza should be carried away by such an excellent, I may say 


lofty, feeling .. . of compassion...” (she glanced at the 
“unhappy creature”) “and ... and at the very portal of the 
temple. .....” 


“Such a feeling does you honour,” Varvara Petrovna approved 
magnificently. Yulia Mihailovna impulsively held out her hand 
and Varvara Petrovna with perfect readiness touched it with 
her fingers. The general effect was excellent, the faces of some 
of those present beamed with pleasure, some bland and in- 

sinuating smiles were to be seen. 

In short it was made manifest to every one in the town that 
it was not Yulia Mihailovna who had up till now neglected 
Varvara Petrovna in not calling upon her, but on the contrary 
that Varvara Petrovna had “kept Yulia Mihailovna within 
bounds at a distance, while the latter would have hastened to 
pay her a visit, going on foot perhaps if necessary, had she been 
fully assured that Varvara Petrovna would not turn her away.” 
And Varvara Petrovna’s prestige was enormously increased. 

“Get in, my dear.” Varvara Petrovna motioned Mille. 
Lebyadkin towards the carriage which had driven up. 

The “unhappy creature’”’ hurried gleefully to the carriage 
door, and there the footman lifted her in. 

“What! You’re lame!” cried Varvara Petrovna, seeming 
quite alarmed, and she turned pale. (Every one noticed it at 
the time, but did not understand it.) 

The carriage rolled away. Varvara Petrovna’s house was 
very near the cathedral. Liza told me afterwards that Miss 
Lebyadkin laughed hysterically for the three minutes that the 
drive lasted, while Varvara Petrovna sat “as though in a 
mesmeric sleep.” Liza’s own expression. 

K 


CHAPTER V 
THE SUBTLE SERPENT 
I 


VARVARA PETROVNA rang the bell and threw herself into an easy 
chair by the window. 

“Sit here, my dear.”’ She motioned Marya Timofyevna to 
a seat in the middle of the room, by a large round table. 
* Stepan Trofimovitch, what is the meaning of this? See, see, 
look at this woman, what is the meaning of it ?”’ 

“—T...1.. .” faltered Stepan Trofimovitch. 

But a footman came in. 

‘A cup of coffee at once, we must have it as quickly as 
possible! Keep the horses ! ” 

‘“* Mais, chére et excellente amie, dans quelle unquiéiude ...” 
Stepan Trofimovitch exclaimed in a dying voice. 

“Ach !. French! French! I can see at once that it’s the 
highest society,’ cried Marya Timofyevna, clapping her hands, 
ecstatically preparing herself to listen to a conversation in 
French. Varvara Petrovna stared at her almost in dismay. 

We all sat in silence, waiting to see how it would end. Shatov 
did not lift up his head, and Stepan Trofimovitch was over- 
whelmed with confusion as though it were all his fault; the 
perspiration stood out on his temples. I glanced at Liza (she 
was sitting in the corner almost beside Shatov). Her eyes 
darted keenly from Varvara Petrovna to the cripple and back 
again; her lips were drawn into a smile, but not a pleasant 
one. Varvara Petrovna saw that smile. Meanwhile Marya 
Timofyevna was absolutely transported. With evident enjoy- 
ment and without a trace of embarrassment she stared at 
Varvara Petrovna’s beautiful drawing-room—the furniture, the 
carpets, the pictures on the walls, the old-fashioned painted 
ceiling, the great bronze crucifix in the corner, the china lamp, 
the albums, the objects on the table. 

“And you’re here, too, Shatushka!’ she cried suddenly. 
** Only fancy, I saw you a long time ago, but I thought it couldn’t 
be you! How could you come here!” And she laughed 
gaily. 

146 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 147 


“You know this woman ?”’ said Varvara Petrovna, turning 
to him at once. 

‘‘T know her,’’ muttered Shatov. He seemed about to move 
from his chair, but remained sitting. 

‘“‘ What do you know of her? Make haste, please ! ”’ 

“Oh, well...” he stammered with an incongruous smile. 
“You see for yourself. . . .” 

‘““ What do I see? Come now, say something !” 

‘“‘ She lives in the same house asI do... with her brother ... 
an officer.” 

“Well 2” 

Shatov stammered again. 

“It’s not worth talking about...’ he muttered, and 
relapsed into determined silence. He positively flushed with 
determination. 

‘‘Of course one can expect nothing else from you,” said 
Varvara Petrovna indignantly. It was clear to her now that 
they all knew something and, at the same time, that they were 
all scared, that they were evading her questions, and anxious to 
keep something from her. 

The footman came in and brought her, on a little silver tray, 
the cup of coffee she had so specially ordered, but at a sign 
from her moved with it at once towards Marya Timofyevna. 

‘“You were very cold just now, my dear; make haste and 
drink it and get warm.” | 

‘* Meret.” 

Marya Timofyevna took the cup and at once went off into a 
giggle at having said merci to the footman. But meeting 
Varvara Petrovna’s reproving eyes, she was overcome with 
shyness and put the cup on the table. 

‘* Auntie, surely you’re not angry ?”’ she faltered with a sort 


of flippant playfulness. | 

‘““Wh-a-a-t ?’”’ Varvara Petrovna started, and drew herself 
up in her chair. “I’m not your aunt. What are you thinking 
of 7” 


Marya Timofyevna, not expecting such an angry outburst, 
began trembling all over in little convulsive shudders, as though 
she were in a fit, and sank back in her chair. 


“T ...1... thought that was the proper way,” she 
faltered, gazing open-eyed at Varvara Petrovna. ‘‘ Liza called 
you that.” 


‘* What Liza ? ”’ 


148 THE POSSESSED 


“Why, this young lady here,” said Marya Timofyevna, 
pointing with her finger. 

“So she’s Liza already ? ”’ 

“You called her that yourself just now,” said Marya Timof- 
yevna growing a little bolder. ‘“‘ And I dreamed of a beauty 
like that,” she added, laughing, as it were accidentally. 

Varvara Petrovna reflected, and grew calmer, she even smiled 
faintly at Marya Timofyevna’s last words; the latter, catching 
her smile, got up from her chair, and limping, went timidly 
towards her. 

“Take it. I forgot to give it back. Don’t be angry with 
my rudeness.” 

She took from her shoulders the black shawl that Varvara 
Petrovna had wrapped round her. 

‘Put it on again at once, and you can keep it always. Go 
and sit down, drink your coffee, and please don’t be afraid of 
me, my dear, don’t worry yourself. I am beginning to under- 
stand you.” 

“ Chére amie .. .”’ Stepan Trofimovitch ventured again. 

“ Ach, Stepan Trofimovitch, it’s bewildering enough without 
you. You might at least spare me.... Please ring that 
bell there, near you, to the maid’s room.” 

A silence followed. Her eyes strayed irritably and suspiciously 
over all our faces. . Agasha, her favourite maid, came in. 

‘Bring me my check shawl, the one I bought in Geneva. 
What’s Darya Pavlovna doing ?”’ 

‘‘ She’s not very well, madam.” 

‘““Go and ask her to come here. Say that I want her par- 
ticularly, even if she’s not well.” 

_ At that instant there was again, as before, an unusual noise 
of steps and voices in the next room, and suddenly Praskovya 
Ivanovna, panting and “ distracted,’ appeared in the doorway. 
She was leaning on the arm of Mavriky Nikolaevitch. 

‘* Ach, heavens, I could scarcely drag myself here. Liza, 
you mad girl, how you treat your mother!” she squeaked, 
concentrating in that squeak, as weak and irritable people are 
wont to do, all her accumulated irritability. ‘“‘ Varvara Petrovna, 
[’ve come. for my daughter !” 

Varvara Petrovna looked at her from under her brows, half 
rose to meet her, and scarcely concealing her vexation brought out: 
“Good morning, Praskovya Ivanovna, please be seated. I 


knew you would come! ”’ 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 149 


II 


There could be nothing surprising to Praskovya Ivanovna 
in such a reception. Varvara Petrovna had from childhood 
upwards treated her old school friend tyrannically, and under 
a show of friendship almost contemptuously. And this was an 
exceptional occasion too. During the last few days there had 
almost been a complete rupture between the two households, 
as | have mentioned incidentally already. The reason of this 
rupture was still a mystery to Varvara Petrovna, which made 
it all the more offensive; but the chief cause of offence was 
that Praskovya Ivanovna had succeeded in taking up an ex- 
traordinarily supercilious attitude towards Varvara Petrovna. 
Varvara Petrovna was wounded of course, and meanwhile some 
strange rumours had reached her which also irritated her 
extremely, especially by their vagueness. Varvara Petrovna 
was of a direct and proudly frank character, somewhat slap-dash 
in her methods, indeed, if the expression is permissible. There 
was nothing she detested so much as secret and mysterious 
insinuations, she always preferred war in the open. Anyway, 
the two ladies had not met for five days. The last visit had been 
paid by Varvara Petrovna, who had come back from “ that 
Drozdov woman” offended and perplexed. I can say with 
certainty that Praskovya Ivanovna had come on this occasion 
with the naive conviction that Varvara Petrovna would, for 
some reason, be sure to stand in awe of her. This. was evident 
from the very expression of her face.. Evidently too, Varvara 
Petrovna was always possessed by a demon of haughty pride 
whenever she had the least ground for suspecting that she was 
for some reason supposed to be humiliated. Like many weak 
people, who for a long time allow themselves to be insulted 
without resenting it, Praskovya Ivanovna showed an extra- 
ordinary violence in her attack at the first favourable oppor- 
tunity. It is true that she was not well, and always became 
more irritable in illness. I must add finally, that our presence 
in the drawing-room could hardly be much check to the two 
ladies who had been friends from childhood, if a quarrel had 
broken out between them. We were looked upon as friends ct 
the family, and almost as their subjects. I made that reflection 
with some alarm at the time. Stepan Trofimovitch, who had 


150 THE POSSESSED 


not sat down since the entrance of Varvara Petrovna, sank 
helplessly into an arm-chair on hearing Praskovya Ivanovna’s 
squeal, and tried to catch my eye with a look of despair. Shatov 
turned sharply in his chair, and growled something to himself. 
I believe he meant to get up and go away. Liza rose from her 
chair but sank back again at once without even paying befitting 
attention to her mother’s squeal—not from “ waywardness,”’ 
but obviously because she was entirely absorbed by some other 
overwhelming impression. She was looking absent-mindedly into 
the air, no longer noticing even Marya Timofyevna. 


III 


** Ach, here!”? Praskovya Ivanovna indicated an easy chair 
near the table and sank heavily into it with the assistance of 
Mavriky Nikolaevitch. ‘I wouldn’t have sat down in your 
house, my lady, if it weren’t for my legs,” she added in a breaking 
voice. : 

Varvara Petrovna raised her head a little, and with an ex- 
pression of suffering pressed the fingers of her right hand to her 
right temple, evidently in acute pain (tic doulowreuz). 

“Why so, Praskovya Ivanovna’; why wouldn’t you sit down 
in my house? I possessed your late husband’s sincere friendship 
all his life ; and you and I used to play with our dolls at school 
together as girls.”’ 

Praskovya Ivanovna waved her hands. 

“I knew that was coming! You always begin about the 
school when you want to reproach me—that’s your way. But 
to my thinking that’s only fine talk. I can’t stand the school 
you're always talking about.” 

**'You’ve come in rather a bad temper, I’m afraid; how are 
your legs ?. Here they’re bringing you some coffee, please have 
some, drink it and don’t be cross.” 

“‘ Varvara Petrovna, you treat me as though I were a child. 
I won’t have any coffee, so there !”’ 

And she pettishly waved away the footman who was bringing 
her coffee. (All the others refused coffee too except Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch and me. Stepan Trofimovitch took it, but put it. 
aside on the table. Though Marya Timofyevna was very 
eager to have another cup and even put out her hand to take it, 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 15] 


on second thoughts she refused it ceremoniously, and was 
obviously pleased with herself for doing so.) 

Varvara Petrovna gave a wry smile. 

“Til tell you what it is, Praskovya Ivanovna, my friend, 
you must have taken some fancy into your head again, and 
that’s why you’ve come. You've simply lived on fancies all 
your life. You flew into a fury at the mere mention of our 
school; but do you remember how you came and persuaded 
all the class that a hussar called Shablykin had proposed to 
you, and how Mme. Lefebure proved on the spot you were lying. 
Yet you weren’t lying, you were simply imagining it all to 
amuse yourself. Come, tell me, what is it now? What are 
you fancying now; what is it vexes you ?”’ 

“And you fell in love with the priest who used to teach us 
scripture at school—so much for you, since you’ve such a spiteful 
memory. Ha ha ha!” 

She laughed viciously and went off into a fit of coughing. 

“* Ah, you've not forgotten the priest then . . .”’ said Varvara 
Petrovna, looking at her vindictively. 

Her face turned green. Praskovya Ivanovna suddenly 
assumed. a dignified air. 

“Tm in no laughing mood now, madam. Why have you 
drawn my daughter into your scandals in the face of the whole 
town? That’s what I’ve come about.’ 

“My scandals?”’ Varvara Petrovna drew herself up 
menacingly. 

‘‘Maman, I entreat you too, to restrain yourself,” Lizaveta 
Nikolaevna brought out suddenly. 

‘‘What’s that you say?”” The maman was on the point of 
breaking into a squeal again, but catching her daughter’s flashing 
eye, she subsided suddenly. 

“How could you talk about scandal, maman?”’ cried Liza, 
flushing red. ‘“‘ [came of my own accord with Yulia Mihailovna’s 
permission, because I wanted to learn this unhappy woman’s 
story and to be of use to her.” 

“This unhappy woman's story ! ” Praskovya Ivanovna drawled 
with a spiteful laugh. “‘Is it your place to mix yourself up with 
such ‘stories.’ Ach, enough of your tyrannising!’’ She turned 
furiously to Varvara Petrovna. ‘I don’t know whether it’s true 
or not, they say you keep the whole town in order, but it seems 
your turn has come at last.’ 

Varvara Petrovna sat straight as an arrow ready to fly from 


152 THE POSSESSED 


the bow. For ten seconds she looked sternly and immovably 
at Praskovya Ivanovna. 

‘“‘ Well, Praskovya, you must thank God that all here present 
are our friends,’ she said at last with ominous composure. 
‘‘ You’ve said a great deal better unsaid.”’ 

‘* But ?'m not so much afraid of what the world will say, my 
lady, as some people. It’s you who, under a show of pride, are 
trembling at what people will say. And as for all here being 
your friends, it’s better for you than if strangers had been 
listening.” 

‘“‘ Have you grown wiser during this last week ?”’ 

“It’s not that I’ve grown wiser, but simply that the truth 
has come out this week.” 

‘‘ What truth has come out this week? Listen, Praskovya 
Ivanovna, don’t irritate me. Explain to me this minute, I beg 
you as a favour, what truth has come out and what do you mean 
by that ?” 

‘“Why there it is, sitting before you!’ and Praskovya 
Ivanovna suddenly pointed at Marya Timofyevna with that 
desperate determination which takes no heed of consequences, 
if only it can make an impression at the moment. Marya 
Timofyevna, who had watched her all the time with light- 
hearted curiosity, laughed exultingly at the sight of the wrathful 
guest’s finger pointed impetuously at her, and wriggled gleefully 
in her easy chair. 

‘““God Almighty have mercy on us, they’ve all gone crazy !” 
exclaimed Varvara Petrovna, and turning pale she sank back in 
her chair. 

She turned so pale that it caused some commotion. Stepan 
Trofimovitch was the first to rush up to her. I drew near also ; 
even Liza got up from her seat, though she did not come forward. 
But the most alarmed of all was Praskovya Ivanovna herself ; 
She uttered a scream, got up as far as she could and almost 
wailed in a lachrymose voice : 

“Varvara Petrovna, dear, forgive me for my wicked foolish- 
ness! Give her some water, somebody.” 

‘‘ Don’t whimper, please, Praskovya Ivanovna, and leave me 
alone, gentlemen, please, I don’t want any water!’ Varvara 
Petrovna pronounced in a firm though low voice, with blanched 
lips. 
‘“ Varvara Petrovna, my dear,’’ Praskovya Ivanovna went on, © 
a little reassured, ““though I am to blame for my reckless 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 153 


words, what's upset me more than anything are these anony- 
mous letters that some low creatures keep bombarding me with ; 
they might write to you, since it concerns you, but I’ve a 
daughter !”’ 

Varvara Petrovna looked at her in silence, with wide-open 
eyes, listening with wonder. At that moment a side-door in the 
corner opened noiselessly, and Darya Pavlovna made her appear- 
ance. She stood still and looked round. She was struck by 
our perturbation. Probably she did not at first distinguish 
Marya Timofyevna, of whose presence she had not been in- 
- formed. Stepan Trofimovitch was the first to notice her; he 
made a rapid movement, turned red, and for some reason pro- 
claimed in a loud voice: ‘‘ Darya Pavlovna!” so that all eyes 
turned on the new-comer. 

“Oh, is this your Darya Pavlovna!”’ cried Marya Timofyevna. 
“Well, Shatushka, your sister’s not like you. How can my 
fellow call such a charmer the serf-wench Dasha ? ”’ 

Meanwhile Darya Pavlovna had gone up to Varvara Petrovna, 
but struck by Marya Timofyevna’s exclamation she turned 
quickly and stopped just before her chair, looking at the imbecile 
with a long fixed gaze. 

“Sit down, Dasha,” Varvara Petrovna brought out with 
terrifying composure. “Nearer, that’s right. You can see 
this woman, sitting down. Do you know her ?”’ 

“IT have never seen her,’’? Dasha answered quietly, and after 
a pause she added at once: 

“She must be the invalid sister of Captain Lebyadkin.” 

** And it’s the first time I’ve set eyes on you, my love, though 
I’ve been interested and wanted to know you a long time, for 
I see how well-bred you are in every movement you make,” 
Marya Timofyevna cried enthusiastically. ‘‘ And though mv 
footman swears at you, can such a well-educated charming 
person as you really have stolen money from him? For you 
are sweet, sweet, sweet, I tell you that from myself!” she 
concluded, enthusiastically waving her hand. 

“Can you make anything of it ?’’ Varvara Petrovna asked 
with proud dignity. 

“T understand it. ... 

*‘ Have you heard about the money ?”’ 

“No doubt it’s the money that I undertook at Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch’s request to hand over to her brother, Captain 
Lebyadkin.” 


9? 


154 _ THE POSSESSED 


A silence followed. | 

*‘ Did. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch himself ask you to do so 2” 

““He was very anxious to send that money, three hundred 
roubles, to Mr. Lebyadkin. And as he didn’t know his address, 
but only knew that he was to be in our town, he charged me to 
give it to Mr. Lebyadkin if he came.” 

“What is the money... lost? What was this woman 
speaking about just now ?”’ 

“That I don’t know. I’ve heard before that Mr. Lebyadkin 
says I didn’t give him all the money, but I don’t understand 
his words. There were three hundred roubles and I sent him 
three hundred roubles.”’ 

Darya Pavlovna had almost completely regained her com- 
posure. And it was difficult, I may mention, as a rule, to 
astonish the girl or ruffle her calm for long—whatever she might 
be feeling. She brought out all her answers now without haste, 
replied immediately to every question with accuracy, quietly, 
smoothly, and without a trace of the sudden emotion she had 
shown at first, or the slightest embarrassment which might have 
suggested a consciousness of guilt. Varvara Petrovna’s eyes 
were fastened upon her all the time she was speaking. Varvara 
Petrovna thought for a minute: 

“Tf,” she pronounced at last firmly, evidently addressing 
all present, though she only looked at Dasha, “if Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch did not appeal even to me but asked you to do 
this for him, he must have had his reasons for doing so. I don’t 
consider I have any right to inquire into them, if they are kept 
secret from me. But the very fact of your having taken part 
in the matter reassures me on that score, be sure of that; Darya, 
in any case. But you see, my dear, you may, through ignorance 
of the world, have quite innocently done something imprudent ; 
and you did so when you undertook to have dealings with a low 
character. The rumours spread by this rascal show what a 
mistake you made. But I will find out about him, and as it is 
my task to protect you, I shall know how to defend you. But 
now all this must be put a stop to.” 

“The best thing to do,” said Marya Timofyevna, popping 
up from her chair, “is to send him to the footmen’s room when 
he comes. Let him sit on the benches there and play cards 
with them while we sit here and drink coffee. We might send 
him a cup of coffee too, but I have a great contempt for him.” 

And she wagged her head expressively. 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 155 


“We must put a stop to this,” Varvara Petrovna repeated, 
listening attentively to Marya Timofyevna. ‘‘ Ring, Stepan 
Trofimovitch, I beg you.” 

Stepan Trofimovitch rang, and suddenly stepped forward, 
all excitement. 


“Tf...if...’ he faltered feverishly, flushing, breaking 
off and stuttering, “if Itoo have heard the most revolting story, 
or rather slander, it was with utter indignation . . . enfin 


be) 


c'est un homme perdu, et quelque chose comme un forcat evadé.. . . 

He broke down and could not go on. Varvara Petrovna, 
screwing up her eyes, looked him up and down. 

The ceremonious butler Alexey Yegorytch came in. 

“The carriage,” Varvara Petrovna ordered. “And you, 
_ Alexey Yegorytch, get ready to escort Miss Lebyadkin home; 
she will give you the address herself.”’ 

“Mr. Lebyadkin has been waiting for her for some time 
downstairs, and has been begging me to announce him.” 

“That's impossible, Varvara Petrovna!” and Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch, who had sat all the time in unbroken silence, 
suddenly came forward in alarm. “If I may speak, he is not 
aman who can be admitted into society. He ...he... he’s 
an impossible person, Varvara Petrovna !”’ 

_ “Wait a moment,’ said Varvara Petrovna to Alexey 
Yegorytch, and he disappeared at once. 

“Cest un homme malhonnéte et je crois méme que cest un. 
forcat evadé ou quelque chose dans ce genre,’’ Stepan Trofimovitch 
muttered again, and again he flushed red and broke off. 

“Liza, it’s time we were going,’ announced Praskovya 
Ivanovna disdainfully, getting up from her seat. She seemed 
sorry that in her alarm she had called herseif a fool. While 
Darya Pavlovna was speaking, she listened, pressing her lips 
superciliously. But what struck me most was the expression 
of Lizaveta Nikolaevna from the moment Darya Pavlovna 
had come in. There was a gleam of hatred and hardly dis- 
guised contempt in her eyes. 

‘“‘ Wait one minute, Praskovya Ivanovna, I beg you.’ Varvara 
Petrovna detained her, still with the same exaggerated com- 
posure. “ Kindly sit down. I intend to speak out, and your 
legs are bad. That’s right, thank you. I lost my temper just 
now and uttered some impatient words. Be so good as to 
forgive me. I behaved foolishly and I’m the first to regret it, 
because I like fairness in everything. Losing your temper too, 


156 THE POSSESSED 


of course, you spoke of certain anonymous letters. Every 
anonymous communication is deserving of contempt, just 
because it’s not signed. If you think differently I’m sorry for 
you. Imany case, if I were in your place, I would not pry into 
such dirty corners, I would not soil my hands with it. But you 
have soiled yours. However, since you have begun on the subject 
yourself, [ must tell you that six days ago I too received a 
clownish anonymous letter. In it some rascal informs me that 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch has gone out of his mind, and that I 
have reason to fear some lame woman, who “is destined to play 
a great part in my life.’. I remember the expression. Re- 
flecting and being aware that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch has 
very numerous enemies, I promptly sent for a man living here, 
one of his secret enemies, and the most vindictive and con- 
temptible of them, and from my conversation with him I 
gathered what was the despicable source of the anonymous 
letter. If you too, my poor Praskovya Ivanovna, have been 
worried by similar letters on my account, and as you say ‘ bom- 
barded’ with them, I am, of course, the first to regret having 
been the innocent cause of it. That’s all I wanted to tell you 
by way of explanation. I’m very sorry to see that you are 
so tired and so upset. Besides, I have quite made up my 
mind to see that suspicious personage of whom Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch said just now, a little inappropriately, that it 
-was impossible to receive him. Liza in particular need have 
nothing to do with it. Come to me, Liza, my dear, let me kiss 
you again.” 

Liza crossed the room and stood in silence before Varvara 
Petrovna. The latter kissed her, took her hands, and, holding 
her at arm’s-length, looked at her with feeling, then made the 
sign of the cross over her and kissed her again. 

‘‘ Well, good-bye, Liza ’”’ (there was almost the sound of tears 
in Varvara Petrovna’s voice), “‘ believe that I shall never cease 
to love you whatever fate has in store for you. God be with 
vou. I have always blessed His holy Will... .” 

She would have added something more, but restrained herself 
and broke off. Liza was walking back to her place, still in the 
same silence, as it were plunged in thought, but she suddenly 
stopped before her mother. 

“JT am not going yet, mother. I'll stay a little longer at 
auntie’s,’’ she brought out in a low voice, but there was a note 
of iron determination in those quiet words. 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 157 


““My goodness! What now?” wailed Praskovya Ivanovna, 
clasping her hands helplessly. But Liza did not answer, and 
seemed indeed not to hear her; she sat down in the same corner 
and fell to gazing into space again as before. 

There was a look of pride and triumph in Varvara Petrovna’s 

face. : 
“ Mavriky Nikolaevitch, I have a great favour to ask of you. 
Be so kind as to go and take a look at that person downstairs, 
and if there is any possibility of admitting him, bring him up 
here.”’ 

Mavriky Nikolaevitch bowed and went out. A moment later 
he brought in Mr. Lebyadkin. 


IV 


I have said something of this gentleman’s outward appearance. 
He was a tall, curly-haired, thick-set fellow about forty with a 
purplish, rather bloated and flabby face, with cheeks that 
quivered at every movement of his head, with little bloodshot 
eyes that were sometimes rather crafty, with moustaches and 
sidewhiskers, and with an incipient double chin, fleshy and 
rather unpleasant-looking. But what was most striking about 
him was the fact that he appeared now wearing a dress-coat 
and clean linen. 

‘There are people on whom clean linen is almost unseemly,” 
as Liputin had once said when Stepan Trofimovitch reproached 
him in jest for being untidy. The captain had perfectly new 
black gloves too, of which he held the right one in his hand, 
while the left, tightly stretched and unbuttoned, covered part 
of the huge fleshy fist in which he held a bran-new, glossy 
round hat, probably worn for the first time that day. It 
appeared therefore that “the garb of love,” of which he had 
shouted to Shatov the day before, really did exist. All this, 
that is, the dress-coat and clean linen, had been procured by 
Liputin’s advice with some mysterious object in view (as | 
found out later). There was no doubt that his coming now (in 
a hired carriage) was at the instigation and with the assistance 
of some one else; it would never have dawned on him, nor 
could he by himself have succeeded in dressing, getting ready 
and making up his mind in three-quarters of an hour, even if 


158 THE POSSESSED 


the scene in the porch of the cathedral had reached his ears at 
once. He was not drunk, but was in the dull, heavy, dazed 
condition of a man suddenly awakened after many days of 
drinking. It seemed as though he would be drunk again if one 
were to put one’s hands on his shoulders and rock him to 
and fro once or twice. He was hurrying into the drawing- 
room but stumbled over a rug near the doorway. Marya 
Timofyevna was helpless with laughter. He looked savagely 
at her and suddenly took a few rapid steps towards Varvara 
Petrovna. 

“T have come, madam...’ he blared out like a trumpet- 
blast. 

‘* Be so good, sir, as to take a seat there, on that chair,” said 
Varvara Petrovna, drawing herself up. ‘I shall hear you as 
well from there, and it will be more convenient for me to look 
at you from here.” 

The captain stopped short, looking blankly before him. He 
turned, however, and sat down on the seat indicated close to the 
door. An extreme lack of self-confidence and at the same time 
insolence, and a sort of incessant irritability, were apparent in 
the expression of his face. He was horribly scared, that was 
evident, but his self-conceit was wounded, and it might be 
surmised that his mortified vanity might on occasion lead him to 
any efirontery, in spite of his cowardice. He was evidently 
uneasy at every movement of his clumsy person. We all know 
that when such gentlemen are brought by some marvellous 
chance into society, they find their worst ordeal in their own 
hands, and the impossibility of disposing them becomingly, of 
which they are conscious at every moment. The captain sat 
rigid in his chair, with his hat and gloves in his hands and his 
eyes-fixed with a senseless stare on the stern face of Varvara 
Petrovna. He would have liked, perhaps, to have looked about 
more freely, but he could not bring himself to do so yet. Marya 
Timofyevna, apparently thinking his appearance very funny, 
laughed again, but he did not stir. Varvara Petrovna ruthlessly 
kept him in this position for a long time, a whole minute, staring 
at him without mercy. 

‘In the first place allow me to learn your name from your- 
self,” Varvara Petrovna pronounced in measured and impressive 
tones. 

‘Captain Lebyadkin,”’ thundered the captain. ‘“‘I have 
come, madam...” He made a movement again. 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 159 


“Allow me!” Varvara Petrovna checked him again. ‘Is 
this unfortunate person who interests me so much really your 
sister ?”’ 

““ My sister, madam, who has escaped from control, for she 
is in a certain condition. .. .” 

He suddenly faltered and turned crimson. 

“Don’t misunderstand me, madam,” he said, terribly con- 


fused. ‘‘ Her own brother’s not going to throw mud at her . 

in a certain condition doesn’t mean in such a condition . . . in 
the sense of an injured reputation . . . in the last stage .. .” 
he suddenly broke off. 


“Sir!” said Varvara Petrovna, raising her head. 

“In this condition!’ he concluded suddenly, tapping the 
middle of his forehead with his finger 

A pause followed. 

** And has she suffered in this way for long ?”’ asked Varvara 
Petrovna, with a slight drawl. 

‘““Madam, I have come to thank you for the generosity you 
showed in the porch, in a Russian, brotherly way.” 

“* Brotherly ?”’ 

“‘I mean, not brotherly, but simply in the sense that I am 
my sister’s brother; and believe me, madam,” he went on more 
hurriedly, turning crimson again, “I am not so uneducated as I 
may appear at first sight in your drawing-room. My sister and 
I are nothing, madam, compared with the luxury we observe 
here. Having enemies who slander us, besides. But on the 
question of reputation Lebyadkin is proud, madam ... and... 
and... and I’ve come to repay with thanks.... Here is 
money, madam !” 

At this point he pulled out a pocket-book, drew out of it a 
bundle of notes, and began turning them over with trembling 
fingers in a perfect fury of impatience. It was evident that he 
was in haste to explain something, and indeed it was quite 
necessary to do so. But probably feeling himself that his 
fluster with the money made him look even more foolish, he 
lost the last traces of self-possession. The money refused to be 
counted. His fingers fumbled helplessly, and to complete his 
shame a green note escaped from the pocket-book, and fluttered 
in zigzags on to the carpet. 3 

‘““Twenty roubles, madam.” He leapt up suddenly with the 
roll of notes in his hand, his face perspiring with discomfort. 
Noticing the note which had dropped on the floor, he was bending 


160 THE POSSESSED 


down to pick it up, but for some reason overcome by shame, he 
dismissed it with a wave. : 

‘For your servants, madam; for the footman who picks it 
up. Let them remember my sister!” 

“T cannot allow that,’ Varvara Petrovna brought out 
hurriedly, even with some alarm. 

“In that case...” 

He bent down, picked it up, flushing crimson, and suddenly 
going up to Varvara Petrovna held out the notes he had counted. 

“What's this?’ she cried, really alarmed at last, and 
positively shrinking back in her chair. 

Mavriky Nikolaevitch, Stepan Trofimovitch, and I all stepped 
forward. 

‘Don’t be alarmed, don’t be alarmed ; I’m not mad, by God, 
I’m not mad,” the captain kept asseverating excitedly. 

‘“‘ Yes, sir, you’re out of your senses.”’ 

‘“‘ Madam, she’s not at allas yousuppose. Jam an insignificant 
link. Oh, madam, wealthy are your mansions, but poor is the 
dwelling of Marya Anonyma, my sister, whose maiden name was 
Lebyadkin, but whom we’ll call Anonyma for the time, only for 
the time, madam, for God Himself will not suffer it for ever. 
Madam, you gave her ten roubles and she took it, because it was 
from you, madam! Do you hear, madam? From no one else 
in the world would this Marya Anonyma take it, or her grand- 
father, the officer killed in the Caucasus before the very eyes of 
Yermolov, would turn in his grave. But from you, madam, 
from you she will take anything. But with one hand she takes 
it, and with the other she hoids out to you twenty roubles by 
way of subscription to one of the benevolent committees in 
Petersburg and Moscow, of which you are a member. . . for 
you published yourself, madam, in the J/oscow News, that you 
are ready to receive subscriptions in our town, and that any 
one may subscribe. as 

The captain suddenly broke off; he breathed hard as though 
after some difficult achievement. ‘All he said about the benevo- 
lent society had probably been prepared beforehand, perhaps 
under Liputin’s supervision. He perspired more than ever ; 
drops literally trickled down his temples. Varvara Petrovna 
looked searchingly at him. 

‘“‘ The subscription list,” she said severely, ‘is always down- 
stairs in charge of my porter. There you can enter your sub- 
scriptions if you wish to. And so I beg you to put your notes 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 161 


away and not to wave them in the air. That’s right. I beg 
you also to go back to your seat. That’s right. I am very 
sorry, sir, that I made a mistake about your sister, and gave 
her something as though she were poor when she is so rich. 
There’s only one thing I don’t understand, why she can only 
take from me, and no one else. You so insisted upon that that 
I should like a full explanation.” 

‘“‘Madam, that is a secret that may be buried only in the 
grave ! ’’ answered the captain. 

“Why ?” Varvara Petrovna asked, not quite so firmly. 

‘Madam, madam ...” 

He relapsed into gloomy silence, looking on the floor, laying his 
right hand on his heart. Varvara Petrovna waited, not taking 
her eyes off him. 

“Madam!” he roared suddenly. ‘“ Will you allow me to 

ask you one question ?. Only one, but frankly, directly, like a 
Russian, from:the heart ? ”’ 

“ Kindly do so.” 

‘‘ Have you ever suffered madam, in your life ?.”’ 

“ You simply mean to say that you have been or are -being 
ill-treated by some one.” 

‘*Madam, madam!’’? He jumped up again, probably un- 
conscious of doing so, and struck himself on the breast. ‘“‘ Here 
in this bosom so much has accumulated, so much that God Him- 
self will be amazed when it is revealed at the Day of Judgment.” 

‘H’m! A strong expression ! ” 

‘“Madam, I speak perhaps irritably. . . .” 

‘Don’t be uneasy. I know myself when to stop you.” 

“ May I ask you another question, madam ? ”’ 

‘** Ask another question.’’ 

‘Can one die simply from the generosity of one’s feelings ?”’ 

“IT don’t know, as I’ve never asked myself such a question.” 

“You don’t know! .You’ve never asked yourself such a 
question,” he said with pathetic irony. “‘ Well, if that’s it, if 
that’s it . i 

‘ Be still, despairing heart!” 


And he struck himself furiously on the chest. He was by, 
now walking about the room again. 

It is typical of such people to be utterly incapable of keeping 
their desires to themselves; they have, on the contrary, an 
irresistible impulse to display them in all their unseemliness 

L 


162 THE POSSESSED 


as soon as they arise. When such a gentleman gets into a 
circle in which he is not at home he usually begins timidly, but 
you have only to give him an inch and he will at once rush into 
impertinence. The captain was already excited. He walked 
about waving his arms and not listening to questions, talked 
about himself very, very quickly,.so that sometimes his tongue 
would not obey him, and without finishing one phrase he passed 
to another. It is true he was probably not quite sober. More- 
over, Lizaveta Nikolaevna was sitting there too, and though he 
did not once glance at her, her presence seemed to over-excite — 
him terribly ; that, however, is only my supposition. There 
must have been some reason which led Varvara Petrovna to 
resolve to listen to such a man in spite of her repugnance. 
Praskovya Ivanovna was simply shaking with terror, though 
I believe she really did not quite understand what it was about. 
Stepan Trofimovitch was trembling too, but that was, on the 
contrary, because he was disposed to understand everything, 
and exaggerate it. Mavriky Nikolaevitch stood in the attitude 
of one ready to defend all present ; Liza was pale, and she gazed 
fixedly with wide-open eyes at the wild captain. Shatov sat 
in the same position as before, but, what was strangest of all, 
Marya Timofyevna had not only ceased laughing, but had 
become terribly sad. She leaned her right elbow on the table, 
and with a prolonged, mournful gaze watched her brother 
declaiming. Darya Pavlovna alone seemed to me calm. 

“All that is nonsensical allegory,’ said Varvara Petrovna, 
getting angry at last. “‘ You haven’t answered my question, 
why ? I insist on an answer.” 

““T haven’t answered, why ? You insist on an answer, why ? ” 
repeated the captain, winking. “ That little word ‘why’ has 
run through all the universe from the first day of creation, and 
all nature cries every minute to it’s Creator, ‘why?’ And for 
seven thousand years it has had no answer, and must Captain 
Lebyadkin alone answer? And is that justice, madam ?”’ 

“That’s all nonsense and not to the point!” cried Varvara 
Petrovna, getting angry and losing patience. ‘‘ That’s allegory ; 
besides, you express yourself too sensationally, sir, which I 
consider impertinence.” 

“Madam,” the captain went on, not hearing, ‘‘I should 
have liked perhaps to be called Ernest, yet I am forced to bear 
the vulgar name Ignat—why is that do you suppose? [ 
should have liked to be called Prince de Monbart, yet I am only 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 163 


Lebyadkin, derived from a swan.* Why is that? Iam a poet, 
madam, a poetin soul, and might be getting a thousand roubles 
at a time from a'publisher, yet I am forced to live in a pig pail. 
Why? Why, madam? To my mind Russia is a freak of 
nature and nothing else.”’ 

‘Can you really say nothing more definite ? ”’ 

*“‘T can read you the poem, ‘ The Cockroach,’ madam.” 

** Wha-a-t 2” 

**Madam, I’m not mad yet! I shall be mad, no doubt I 
shall be, but I’m not so yet. Madam, a friend of mine—a most 
honourable man—has written a Krylov’s fable, called ‘The 
Cockroach.’ May I read it ?”’ 

“You want to read some fable of Krylov’s 2?” 

“No, it’s not a fable of Krylov’s I want to read. It’s my 
fable, my own composition. Believe me, madam, without 
offence I’m not so uneducated and depraved as not to under- 
stand that Russia can boast of a great fable-writer, Krylov, 
to whom the Minister of Education has raised a monument in 
the Summer Gardens for the diversion of the young. Here, 
madam, you ask me why? The answer is at the end of this 
fable, in letters of fire.’’ 

“* Read your fable.”’ 

** Inved a cockroach in the world 
Such was his condition. 
In a glass he chanced to fall 
Full of fly-perdition.” 


“Heavens! What does it mean?” cried Varvara Petrovna. 

** That’s when flies get into a glass in the summer-time,”’ the 
captain explained hurriedly with the irritable impatience of an 
author interrupted in reading. “Then it is perdition to 
the flies, any fool can understand. Don’t interrupt, don’t 
interrupt. You'll see, you'll see... .” 

He kept waving his arms. 


‘“* But he squeezed against the flres, 
They woke up and cursed him, 
Raised to Jove their angry cries ; 
‘The glass ts full to bursting !’ 

In the middle of the din 

Came along Nikifor, 

Fine old man, and looking in... 
* From lebyed, a swan. 


164 THE POSSESSED 


I haven’t quite finished it. But no matter, [ll tell it in 
words,” the captain rattled on. “‘ Nikifor takes the glass, and 
in spite of their outcry empties away the whole stew, flies, and 
beetles and all, into the pig pail, which ought to have been done 
long ago. But observe, madam, observe, the cockroach doesn’t 
complain. That’s the answer to your question, why ?”’ he 
cried triumphantly. “ ‘The cockroach does not complain.’ As 
for Nikifor he typifies nature,” he added, sa aie rapidly and 
walking complacently about the room. 

var sare Petrovna was terribly angry. 

*“ And allow me to ask you about that money said to have 
been received from Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, and not to have 
been given to you, about which you dared to accuse a person 
belonging to my household.” 

“It’s a slander!” roared Lebyadkin, flinging up his right 
hand tragically. 

‘¢ No, it’s not a slander.”’ 

‘‘Madam, there are circumstances that force one to endure 
family disgrace rather than proclaim the truth aloud. Lebyadkin 
will not blab, madam !” 

He seemed dazed ; he was carried away; he felt his import- 
ance; he certainly had some fancy in his mind. By now he 
wanted to insult some one, to do something nasty to show his 
power. 

Ring, please, Stepan Trofimovitch,’ Varvara Petrovna 
asked him. 

‘* Lebyadkin’s cunning, madam,” he said, winking with his evil 
smile ; ‘he’s cunning, but he too has a weak spot, he too at times 
is in the portals of passions, and these portals are the old military 
hussars’ bottle, celebrated by Denis Davydov. So when he is in 
those portals, madam, he may happen to send a letter in verse, a 
most magnificent letter—but which afterwards he would have 
wished to take back, with the tears of all his life ; for the feeling 
of the beautiful is destroyed. But the bird has flown, you won’t 
catch it by the tail. In those portals now, madam, Lebyadkin 
may have spoken about an honourable young lady, in the 
honourable indignation of a soul revolted by wrongs, and his 
slanderers have taken advantage of it. But Lebyadkin is 
cunning, madam! And in vain a malignant wolf sits over him 
every minute, filling his glass and waiting for the end. Lebyadkin 
won't blab. And at the bottorn of the bottle he always finds » 
instead Lebyadkin’s cunning. But enough, oh, enough, madam! 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 165 


Your splendid halls might belong to the noblest in the land, but 
the cockroach will not complain. Observe that, observe that 
he does not complain, and recognise his noble spirit ! ”’ 

At that instant a bell rang downstairs from the porter’s room, 
and almost at the same moment Alexey Yegcorytch appeared in 
response to Stepan Trofimovitch’s ring, which he had somewhat 
delayed answering. The correct old servant was unusually 
excited. 

* Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch has graciously arrived this moment 
and is coming here,’’ he pronounced, in reply to Varvara 
Petrovna’s questioning glance. I particularly remember her at 
that moment; at first she turned pale, but suddenly her eyes 
flashed. She drew herself up in her chair with an air of extra- 
ordinary determination. Every one was astounded indeed. 
The utterly unexpected arrival of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, 
who was not expected for another month, was not only strange 
from its unexpectedness but from its fateful coincidence with 
the present moment. Hiven the captain remained standing like 
a post in the middle of the room with his mouth wide open, 
staring at the door with a fearfully stupid expression. 

‘And, behold, from the next ‘room—a very large and long 
apartment—came the sound of swiftly approaching footsteps, 
little, exceedingly rapid steps; some one seemed to be running, 
and that some one suddenly flew into the drawing-room, not 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but a young man who was a complete 
stranger to all. 3 


V 


_ I will permit myself to halt here to sketch in a few hurried 
strokes this person who had so suddenly arrived on the scene. 
He was a young man of twenty-seven or thereabouts, a little 
above the medium height, with rather long, lank, flaxen hair, 
and with faintly defined, irregular moustache and beard. He 
was dressed neatly, and in the fashion, though not like a dandy. 
At the first glance he looked round-shouldered and awkward, | 
but yet he was not round-shouldered, and his manner was easy. 
He seemed a queer fish, and yet later on we all thought his 
manners good; and his conversation always to the point. 
- Noone would have said that he was ugly, and yet no one would 
have liked his face. His head was elongated at the back, and 


166 THE POSSESSED 


looked flattened at the sides, so that his face seemed pointed. 
His forehead was high and narrow, but his features were small ; 
his eyes were keen, his nose was small and sharp, his lips were 
long and thin. The expression of his face suggested ill-health, 
but this was misleading. He had a wrinkle on each cheek which 
gave him the look of a man who had just recovered from a 
serious illness. Yet he was perfectly well and strong, and had 
never been ill. 

He walked and moved very hurriedly, yet never seemed in a 
hurry to be off. It seemed as though nothing could disconcert 
him; in every circumstance and in every sort of society he 
remained the same. He had a great deal of conceit, but was 
utterly unaware of it himself. 

He talked quickly, hurriedly, but at the same time with 
assurance, and was never at a loss for a word. In spite of his 
hurried manner his ideas were in perfect order, distinct and 
definite—and this was particularly striking. His articulation 
was wonderfully clear. His words pattered out like smooth, 
big grains, always well chosen, and at your service. At first this 
attracted one, but afterwards it became repulsive, just because 
of this over-distinct articulation, this string of ever ready words. 
One somehow began to imagine that he must have a tongue of 
special shape, somehow exceptionally long and thin, extremely 
red with a very sharp everlastingly active little tip. 

Well, this was the young man who darted now into the drawing- 
room, and really, I believe to this day, that he began to talk in 
the next room, and came in speaking. He was standing before 
Varvara Petrovna in a trice. 

“... Only fancy, Varvara Petrovna,” he pattered on, “TI 
came in expecting to find he’d been here for the last quarter of 
an hour ; he arrived an hour and a half ago ; we met at Kirillov’s: 
he set off half an hour ago meaning to come straight here, and 
told me to come here too, a quarter ofan hour later. . . .” 

‘“ But who ?, Who told you to come here ?”’ Varvara Petrovna 
inquired. 

‘Why, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch! Surely this isn’t the first 
you've heard of it! But his luggage must have been here a 
long while, anyway. How is it you weren’t told? Then I’m 
the first to bring the news. One might send out to look for him ; 
he’s sure to be here himself directly though. And I fancy, at 
the moment that just fits in with some of his expectations, and 
as far as I can judge, at least, some of his calculations.” 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 167 


At this point he turned his eyes about the room and fixed 
them with special attention on the captain. 

“ Ach, Lizaveta Nikolaevna, how glad I am to meet you at ine 
very first step, delighted to shake hands with you.” He flew 
up to Liza, who was smiling gaily, to take her proffered hand, 
“and I observe that my honoured friend Praskovya Ivanovna has 
not forgotten her ‘ professor,’ and actually isn’t cross with him, 
as she always used to be in Switzerland. But how are your legs, 
here, Praskovya Ivanovna, and were the Swiss doctors right 
when at the consultation they prescribed your native air ? 
What? Fomentations? That ought to do good. But how 
sorry I was, Varvara Petrovna ”’ (he turned rapidly to her) ‘‘ that I 
didn’t arrive in time to meet you abroad, and offer my respects 
to you in person; I had so much to tell you too. 1 did send 
word to my old man here, but I fancy that he did as he always 
does 7...” 

‘“ Petrusha!’’ cried Stepan Trofimovitch, instantly roused 
from his stupefaction. He clasped his hands and flew to his son. 

“* Pierre, mon enfant! Why, I didn’t know you!” 

He pressed him in his arms and the tears rolled down his 
cheeks. 

‘Come, be quiet, be quiet, no flourishes, that’s enough, that’s 
enough, please,’ Petrusha muttered hurriedly, trying to extricate 
himself from his embrace. 

‘“ Pve always sinned against you, always !” 

“Well, that’s enough. We can talk of that later. 1 knew 
you'd carry on. Come, be a little more sober, please.” 

‘‘ But it’s ten years since I’ve seen you.” 

“‘ The less reason for demonstrations.” 

“if ow enfants wilh 2200 

** Come, I believe in your afiection, I believe in it, take your 
arms away. You see, youre disturbing other people... . 
Ah, here’s Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch ; keep quiet, please.” 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was already in the room; he came 
in very quietly and stood still for an instant in the doorway, 
quietly scrutinising the company. 

I was struck by the first sight of him just as I had been four 
years before, when I saw him for the first time. I had not 
forgotten him in the least. But I think there are some counten- 
ances which always seem to exhibit something new which one 
has not noticed before, every time one meets them, though one 
may have seen them a hundred times already. Apparently he 


168 THE POSSESSED 


was exactly the same as he had been four years before. He was 
as elegant, as dignified, he moved with the same air of consequence 
as before, indeed he looked almost as young. His faint smile 
had just the same official graciousness and complacency. | His 
eyes had the same stern, thoughtful and, as it were, preoccupied 
look. In fact, it seemed as though we had only parted the day 
before. But one thing struck me. In old days, though he had 
been considered handsome, his face was “‘ like a mask,’’ as some 
of our sharp-tongued ladies had expressed it. Now—now, I 
don’t know why he impressed me at once as absolutely, incon- 
testably beautiful, so that no one could have said that his face 
was like a mask. Wasn’t it perhaps that he was a little paler 
and seemed rather thinner than before ?. Or was there, perhaps, 
the light of some new idea in his eyes ? 

‘“‘ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch !’’ cried Varvara Petrovna, draw- 
ing herself up but not rising from her chair. ‘“‘ Stop a minute!” 
She checked his advance with a peremptory gesture. 

But to explain the awful question which immediately followed 
that gesture and exclamation—a question which I should have 
imagined to be impossible even in Varvara Petrovna, I must 
ask the reader to remember what that lady’s temperament 
had always been, and the extraordinary impulsiveness she 
showed at some critical moments. I beg him to consider also, 
that in spite of the exceptional strength of her spirit and the 
very considerable amount of common sense and practical, so to 
say business, tact she possessed, there were moments in her life 
in which she abandoned herself altogether, entirely and, if it’s 
permissible to say so, absolutely without restraint. I beg him 
to take into consideration also that the present moment might 
really be for her one of those in which all the essence of life, of 
all the past and all the present, perhaps, too, all the future, is 
concentrated, as it were, focused. I must briefly recall, too, 
the anonymous letter of which she had spoken to Praskovya 
Ivanovna with so much irritation, though I think she said 
nothing of the latter part of it. Yet it perhaps contained the 
explanation of the possibility of the terrible question with which 
she suddenly addressed her son. 

“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch,” she repeated, rapping out her 
words in a resolute voice in which there was a ring of menacing 
challenge, “I beg you to tell me at once, without moving from 
that place; is it true that this unhappy cripple—here she is, 
here, look at her—is it true that she is . . . your lawful wife ?” 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 169 


I remember that moment only too well; he did not wink an 
eyelash but looked intently at his mother. Not the faintest 
change in his face followed. At last he smiled, a sort of indulgent 
smile, and without answering a word went quietly up to his 
mother, took her hand, raised it respectfully to his lips and 
kissed it. And so great was his invariable and _ irresistible 
ascendancy over his mother that even now she could not. bring 
herself to pull away her hand. She only gazed at him, her whole 
figure one concentrated question, seeming to betray that she 
could not bear the suspense another moment. 

But he was still silent. When he had kissed her hand, he 
scanned the whole room once more, and moving, as before, 
without haste went towards Marya Timofyevna. It is very 
difficult to describe people’s countenances at certain moments. 
I remember, for instance, that Marya Timofyevna, breathless 
with fear, rose to her feet to meet him and clasped her hands 
before her, as though beseeching him. And at the same time J 
remember the frantic ecstasy which almost distorted her face— 
an ecstasy almost too great for any human being to bear. 
Perhaps both were there, both the terror and the ecstasy. But 
I remember moving quickly towards her (I was standing not 
far off), for I fancied she was going to faint. 

“You should not be here,’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch said to 
her in a caressing and melodious voice ; and there was the light 
of an extraordinary tenderness in his eyes. He stood before 
her in the most respectful attitude, and every gesture showed 
sincere respect for her. The poor girl faltered impulsively in 
a half-whisper. 

* But may 1... kneel down . . . to you now ?”’ 

“No, you can’t do that.” 

He smiled at her magnificently, so that she too laughed joyfully 
at once. In the same melodious voice, coaxing her tenderly as 
though she were a child, he went on gravely. 

“Only think that you are a girl, and that though I’m your 
devoted friend I’m an outsider, not your husband, nor your 
father, nor your betrothed. Give me your arm and let us go; 
I will take you to the carriage, and if you will let me I will see 
you all the way home.” 

She listened, and bent her head as though meditating. 

“‘ Let’s go,” she said with a sigh, giving him her hand. 

But at that point a slight mischance befell her: She must 
have turned carelessly, resting on her lame leg, which was shorter 


170 THE POSSESSED 


than the other. She fell sideways into the chair, and if the 
chair had not been there would have fallen on to the floor. He 
instantly seized and supported her, and holding her arm firmly 
in his, led her carefully and sympathetically to the door. She 
was evidently mortified at having fallen ; she was overwhelmed, 
blushed, and was terribly abashed. Looking dumbly on the 
ground, limping painfully, she hobbled after him, almost hanging 
on his arm. So they went out. Liza, I saw, suddenly jumped 
up from her chair for some reason as they were going out, and 
she followed them with intent eyes till they reached the door. 
Then she sat down again in silence, but there was a nervous 
twitching in her face, as though she had touched a viper. 

While this scene was taking place between Nikolay Vsyevo- 
lodovitch and Marya Timofyevna every one was speechless 
with amazement; one could have heard a fly; but as soon as 
they had gone out, every one began suddenly talking. 


VI 


It was very little of it talk, however ; it was mostly exclamation. 
I’ve forgotten a little the order in which things happened, for a 
scene of confusion followed. Stepan Trofimovitch uttered some 
exclamation in French, clasping his hands, but Varvara Petrovna 
had no thought for him. Even Mavriky Nikolaevitch muttered 
some rapid, jerky comment. But Pyotr Stepanovitch was the 
most excited of all. He was trying desperately with bold 
gesticulations to persuade Varvara Petrovna of something, but 
it was a long time before I could make out what it was. He 
appealed to Praskovya Ivanovna, and Lizaveta Nikolaevna too, 
even, in his excitement, addressed a passing shout to his father— 
in fact he seemed all over the room at once. Varvara Petrovna, 
flushing all over, sprang up from her seat and cried to Praskovya 
Ivanovna : . 

‘“‘ Did you hear what he said to her here just now, did you 
hear it ?”’ 

But the latter was incapable of replying. She could only 
mutter something and wave her hand. The poor woman had 
troubles of her own to think about. She kept.turning her head 
towards Liza and was watching her with unaccountable terror, | 
but she didn’t even dare to think of getting up and going away 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 171 


until her daughter should get up. In the meantime the 
captain wanted to ship away. That I noticed. There was no 
doubt that he had been in a great panic from the instant that 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had made his appearance ; but Pyotr 
Stepanovitch took him by the arm and would not let him go. 

*““It is necessary, quite necessary,’ he pattered on to Varvara 
Petrovna, still trying to persuade her. He stood facing her, as 
she was sitting down again in her easy chair, and, I remember, 
was listening to him eagerly; he had succeeded in securing her 
attention. 

“It is necessary. You can see for yourself, Varvara Petrovna, 
that there is a misunderstanding here, and much that is strange 
on the surface, and yet the thing’s as clear as daylight, and as 
simple as my finger. I quite understand that no one has 
authorised me to tell the story, and I dare say I look ridiculous 
putting myself forward. But in the first place, Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch attaches no sort of significance to the matter 
himself, and, besides, there are incidents of which it is difficult 
for a man to make up his mind to give an explanation himself. 
And so it’s absolutely necessary that it should be undertaken 
by a third person, for whom it’s easier to put some delicate 
points into words. Believe me, Varvara Petrovna, that Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch is not at all to blame for not immediately 
answering your question just now with a full explanation, it’s 
all a trivial affair. I’ve known him since his Petersburg days. 
Besides, the whole story only does honour to Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
vitch, if one must make use of that vague word ‘ honour.’ ”’ 

“You mean to say that you were a witness of some incident 
which gaverise . . . to this misunderstanding ?’’ asked Varvara 
Petrovna. 

‘IT witnessed it, and took part in it,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch 
hastened to declare. 

“Tf you'll give me your word that this will not wound Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch’s delicacy in regard to his feeling for me, from 
whom he ne-e-ver conceals anything . . . and if you are con- 
vinced also that your doing this will be agreeable to him . . .” 

“‘ Certainly it will be agreeable, and for that reason I consider 
it a particularly agreeable duty. I am convinced that he would 
beg me to do it himself.” 

The intrusive desire of this gentleman, who seemed to have 
dropped on us from heaven to tell stories about other people’s 
affairs, was rather strange and inconsistent with ordinary usage. 


172 THE POSSESSED 


But he had caught Varvara Petrovna by touching on too 
painful a spot. I did not know the man’s character at that 
time, and still less his designs. 

“T am listening,’ Varvara Petrovna announced with a 
reserved and cautious manner. She was rather painfully aware 
of her condescension. 

‘ Tt’s a short story; in fact if you like it’s not a story at all,” 
he rattled on, ‘though a novelist might work it up into a 
novel in an idle hour. It’s rather an interesting little incident, 
Praskovya [vanovna, and I am sure that Lizaveta Nikolaevna 
will be interested to hear it, because there are a great many 
things in it that are odd if not wonderful. Five years ago, in 
Petersburg, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch made the acquaintance of 
this gentieman, this very Mr. Lebyadkin who’s standing here 
with his mouth open, anxious, I think, to slip away at once. 
Excuse me, Varvara Petrovna. I don’t advise you to make your 
escape though, you discharged clerk in the former commissariat 
department you see; I remember you very well. Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch and I know very well what you’ve been up to 
here, and, don’t forget, you'll have to answer for it. I ask 
your pardon once more, Varvara Petrovna. In those days 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch used to call this gentleman his 
Falstaff; that must be,’? he explained suddenly, ‘‘some old 
burlesque character, at whom every one laughs, and who is 
willing to let every one laugh at him, if only they'll pay him for 
it. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was leading at that time in 
Petersburg a life, so to say, of mockery. I can’t find another 
word to describe it, because he is not a man who falls into 
disillusionment, and he disdained to be occupied with work at 
that time. I’m only speaking of that period, Varvara Petrovna. 
Lebyadkin had a sister, the woman who was sitting here just 
now. The brother and sister hadn’ta corner * of their own, but 
were always quartering themselves on different people. He used 
to hang about the arcades in the Gostiny Dvor, always wearing 
his old uniform, and would stop the more respectable-looking 
passers-by, and everything he got from them he’d spend in drink. 
His sister lived like the birds of heaven. She’d help people 
in their ‘ corners,’ and do jobs for them on occasion. It was a 
regular Bedlam. I'll pass over the description of this life in 
‘corners,’ a life to which Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had taken, 


* In the poorer quarters of Russian towns a single room is often let out to 
several families, each of which occupies a ‘ corner.” 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 173 


at that time, from eccentricity. I’m only talking of that 
period, Varvara Petrovna; as for ‘eccentricity,’ that’s his 
own expression. He does not conceal much from me. Mlle. 
Lebyadkin, who was thrown in the way of meeting Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch very often, at one time, was fascinated by his 
appearance. He was, so to say, a diamond set in the dirty 
background of her life. I am a poor hand at describing feelings, 
so I’ll pass them over; but some of that dirty lot took to jeering 
at her once, and it made her sad. They always had laughed 
at her, but she did not seem to notice it before. She wasn’t 
quite right in her head even then, but very different from what 
sheis now. ‘There’s reason to believe that in her childhood she 
received something like an education through the kindness of a 
benevolent lady. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had never taken the 
slightest notice of her. He used to spend his time chiefly in 
playing preference with a greasy old pack of cards for stakes 
of a quarter-farthing with clerks. But once, when she was being 
ill-treated, he went up (without inquiring into the cause) and 
seized one of the clerks by the collar and flung him out of a 
second-floor window. It was not a case of chivalrous indignation 
at the sight of injured innocence; the whole operation took 
place in the midst of roars of laughter, and the one who laughed 
loudest was Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch himself. As it all ended 
without harm, they were reconciled and began drinking punch. 
But the injured innocent herself did not forget it. Of course it 
ended in her becoming completely crazy. I repeat ’m a 
poor hand at describing feelings. But a delusion was the chief 
feature in this case. And Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch aggravated 
that delusion as though he did it on purpose. Instead of laughing 
at her he began all at once treating Mlle. Lebyadkin with sudden 
respect. Kirillov, who was there (a very original man, Varvara 
Petrovna, and very abrupt, you'll see him perhaps one day, 
for he’s here now), well, this Kirillov who, as a rule, is per- 
fectly silent, suddenly got hot, and said to Nikelay Vsyevolodo- 
vitch, I remember, that he treated the girl as though she were 
a marquise, and that that was doing for her altogether. I must 
add that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had rather a respect for this 
Kirillov. What do you suppose was the answer he gave him: 
‘You imagine, Mr. Kirillov, that I am laughing at her. Get rid 
of that idea, I really do respect her, for she’s better than any of 
us.’ And, do you know, he said it in such a serious tone. 
Meanwhile, he hadn’t really said a word to her for two or three 


174 THE POSSESSED 


months, except’ ‘ good morning’ and ‘good-bye.’ . I remember, 
for I was there, that she came at last to the point of looking on 
him almost as her betrothed who dared not ‘elope with: her,’ 
simply because he had many enemies and family difficulties, 
or something of the sort. There was a great deal of laughter 
about it. It ended in Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s making 
provision for her when he had to come here, and I believe he 
arranged to pay a considerable sum, three hundred roubles a 
year, if not more, as a pension for her. In short it was all a 
caprice, a fancy of aman prematurely weary on his side, perhaps— 
it may even have been, as Kirillov says, a new experiment of a 
blasé man, with the object of finding out what you can bring 
a crazy cripple to.’”’ (You picked out on purpose, he said, the 
lowest creature, a cripple, for ever covered with disgrace and 
blows, knowing, too, that this creature was dying of comic love 
for you, and set to work to mystify her completely on purpose, 
simply to see what would come of it.) ‘‘ Though, how is a man 
so particularly to blame for the fancies of a crazy woman, to 
whom he had hardly uttered two sentences the whole time. 
There are things, Varvara Petrovna, of which it is not only 
impossible to speak sensibly, but it’s even nonsensical to begin 
speaking of them at all. Well, eccentricity then, let it stand at 
that. Anyway, there’s nothing worse to be said than that; 
and yet now they’ve made this scandal out of it. .... I amto 
some extent aware, Varvara Petrovna, of what is happening here.” 

The speaker suddenly broke off and was turning to Lebyadkin. 
But Varvara Petrovna checked him. She was in a state of 
extreme exaltation. 

‘“* Have you finished ?”’ she asked. 

“Not yet; to complete my story I should have to ask this 
gentleman one or two questions if you'll allow me... you'll 
see the point in a minute, Varvara Petrovna.”’ 

‘‘ Enough, afterwards, leave it for the moment I beg you. 
Oh, I was quite right to let you speak ! ” 

‘‘ And note this, Varvara Petrovna,’’ Pyotr Stepanovitch said 
hastily. ‘‘ Could Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch have explained all 
this just now in answer to your question, which was perhaps too 
peremptory ?”’ 

** Oh, yes, it was.” 

‘And wasn’t I right in saying that in some cases it’s much 
easier for a third person to explain things than for the person © 
interested ? ” 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 175 


“Yes, yes... but in one thing you were mistaken, and, I 

see with regret, are still mistaken.” 
'“ Really, what’s that ?”’ 

“You see.... But won’t you sit down, Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch ?” 

“Oh, as you please. I am tired indeed. Thank you.” 

He instantly moved up an easy chair and turned it so that 
he had Varvara Petrovna on one side and Praskovya Ivanovna 
at the table on the other, while he faced Lebyadkin, from whom 
he did not take his eyes for one minute. 

“You are mistaken in calling this eccentricity. ... 

** Oh, if it’s only that. ...” 

** No, no, no, wait a little,” 


33> 


said Varvara Petrovna, who was 


obviously about to say a good deal and to speak with enthusiasm. 


1? 


As soon as Pyotr Stepanovitch noticed it, he was all attention. 

“No, it was something higher than eccentricity, and I assure 
you, something sacred even! A proud man who has suffered 
humiliation early in life and reached the stage of ‘ mockery’ as 
you so subtly called it—Prince Harry, in fact, to use the capital 
nickname Stepan Trofimovitch gave him then, which would 
have been perfectly correct if it were not that he is more like 
Hamlet, to my thinking at least.” 

‘“ Ht vous avez raison,’ Stepan Trofimovitch pronounced, 
impressively and with feeling. 

“Thank you, Stepan Trofimovitch. I thank you particu- 
larly too for your unvarying faith in Nicolas, in the loftiness 
of his soul and of his destiny. That faith you have even 
strengthened in me when I was losing heart.”’ 

“ Chére, chére.” Stepan Trofimovitch was stepping forward, 
when he checked himself, reflecting that it was dangerous to 
interrupt. 

* And if Nicolas had always had at his side’ (Varvara Petrovna 
almost shouted) ‘‘ a gentle Horatio, great in his humility—another 
excellent expression of yours, Stepan Trofimovitch—he might 
long ago have been saved from the sad and ‘ sudden demon of 
irony,’ which has tormented him all his life. (‘The demon of 


irony’ was a wonderful expression of yours again, Stepan 
-Trofimovitch.) But Nicolas has never had an Horatio or an: 
Ophelia. He had no one but his mother, and what can a mother 


do alone, and in such circumstances? Do you know, Pyotr 
Stepanovitch, it’s perfectly comprehensible to me now that a 
being like Nicolas could be found even in such filthy haunts as 


176 THE POSSESSED 


you have described. Icanso clearly picture now that ‘mockery ’ 
of life. (A wonderfully subtle expression of yours!) ‘That 
insatiable thirst of contrast, that gloomy background against 
which he stands out like a diamond, to use your comparison 
again, Pyotr Stepanovitch. And then he meets there a creature 
ill-treated by every one, crippled, half insane, and at the same 
time perhaps filled with noble feelings.” 

Wm! wy! Nes, perhaps,” 

‘“‘ And after that you don’t understand that he’s not laughing 
at her like every one. Oh, you people! You can’t understand 
his defending her from insult, treating her with respect “like a 
marquise’ (this Kirillov must have an exceptionally deep 
understanding of men, though he didn’t understand Nicolas). 
It was just this contrast, if you like, that led to the trouble. 
If the unhappy creature had been in different surroundings, 
perhaps she would never have been brought to entertain such 
a frantic delusion. Only a woman can understand it, Pyotr 
Stepanovitch, only a woman. How sorry lam that you... 
not that you’re not a woman, but that you can’t be one just for 
the moment so as to understand.” 

‘““'You mean in the sense that the worse things are the better 
it is. I understand, * wnderstand, Varvara Petrovna. It’s 
rather as it is in religion; the harder life is for a man or the more 
crushed and poor the people are, the more obstinately they 
dream of compensation in heaven; and if a hundred thousand 
priests are at work at it too, inflaming their delusion, and 
speculating on it, then ...tI1 understand you, Varvara 
Petrovna, I assure you.” 

“ That’s not quite it; but tell me, ought Nicolas to have 
laughed at her and have treated her as the other clerks, in 
order to extinguish the delusion in this unhappy organism.”’ 
(Why Varvara Petrovna used the word organism I couldn’t 
understand.) ‘‘Can you really refuse to recognise the lofty 
sompassion, the noble tremor of the whole organism with which 
Nicolas answered Kirillov: ‘I do not laugh at her.’ A noble, 
sacred answer ! ” 

‘* Sublime,’ muttered Stepan Trofimovitch. 

'** And observe, too, that he is by no means so rich as you 
suppose. ‘The money is mine and not his, and he would take 
next to nothing from me then.” 

mr? | understand, I understand all that, Varvara Petrovna,” 
said Pyotr Stepanovitch, with a movement of some impatience. 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 177 


** Oh, it’s my character! I recognise myself in Nicolas. I 
recognise that youthfulness, that hability to violent, tempestuous 
impulses. And if we ever come to be friends, Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
and, for my part, I sincerely hope we may, especially as I am 
so deeply indebted to you, then, perhaps you'll understand. . . .” 

‘““Oh, I assure you, I hope for it too,” Pyotr Stepanovitch 
muttered jerkily. 

“ You'll understand then the impulse which leads one in the 
blindness of generous feeling to take up a man who is unworthy 
of one in every respect, a man who utterly fails to understand 
one, who is ready to torture one at every opportunity and, in 
contradiction to everything, to exalt such a man into a sort of 
ideal, into a dream. ‘To concentrate in him all one’s hopes, to 
bow down before him; to love him all one’s life, absolutely 


- without knowing why—perhaps just because he was unworthy 


of it. ... Oh, how I’ve suffered all my life, Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch |” f 

Stepan Trofimovitch, with a look of suffering on his face, began 
trying to catch my eye, but I turned away in “time. 

And only lately, only lately—oh, how unjust Pve 
been to Nicolas! ... You would not believe how they have 
been worrying me on alli sides, all, all, enemies, and rascals, and 
friends, friends perhaps more than enemies. When the first 
contemptible anonymous letter was sent to me, Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch, you'll hardly believe it, but I had not strength enough 
to treat all this wickedness with contempt. ... I shall never, 
never forgive myself for my weakness.”’ 

‘“T had heard something of anonymous letters here already,” 
said Pyotr Stepanovitch, growing suddenly more lively, “‘ and 
I'll find out the writers of them, you may be sure.” 

“ But you can’t imagine the intrigues that have been got up 
here. They have even been pestering our poor Praskovya 
Ivanovna, and what reason can they have for worrying her ? 
I was quite unfair to you to-day perhaps, my dear Praskovya 
Ivanovna,”’ she added in a generous impulse of kindliness, 
though not without a certain triumphant irony. 

‘Don’t say any more, my dear,” the other lady muttered 
reluctantly. “To my thinking we’d better make an end of all 
this ; too much has been said.”’ 

And again she looked timidly towards Liza, but the latter was 
looking at Pyotr Stepanovitch. 

*« And I intend now to adopt this poor unhappy creature, this 

M 


178 THE POSSESSED 


insane woman who has lost everything and kept only her heart,” 
Varvara Petrovna exclaimed suddenly. ‘It’s a sacred duty I 
intend to carry out. I take her under my protection from this 
day.” 

‘““And that will be a very good thing in one way,” Pyotr 
Stepanovitch cried, growing quite eager again. “‘ Excuse me, I 
did not finish just now. It’s just the care of her I want to speak 
of. Would you believe it, that as soon as Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
vitch had gone (I’m beginning from where I left off, Varvara 
Petrovna), this gentleman here, this Mr. Lebyadkin, instantly 
imagined he had the right to dispose of the whole pension that 
was provided for his sister. And he did dispose of it. I don’t 
know exactly how it had been arranged by Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
vitch at that time. But a year later, when he learned from 
abroad what had happened, he was obliged to make other 
arrangements. Again, | don’t know the details; he’ll tell you 
them himself. I only know that the interesting young person 
was placed somewhere in a remote nunnery, in very comfortable 
surroundings, but under friendly superintendence—you under- 
stand? But what do you think Mr. Lebyadkin made up his 
mind to do? He exerted himself to the utmost, to begin with, 
to find where his source of income, that is his sister, was hidden. 
Only lately he attained his object, took her from the nunnery, 
asserting some claim to her, and brought her straight here. 
Here he doesn’t feed her properly, beats her, and bullies her. 
As soon as by some means he gets a considerable sum from 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, he does nothing but get drunk, and 
instead of gratitude ends by impudently defying Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch, making senseless demands, threatening him 
with proceedings if the pension is not paid straight into his hands. 
So he takes what is a voluntary gift from Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
vitch as a tax—can you imagine it? Mr. Lebyadkin, is that 
all true that I have said just now ?”’ 

The captain, who had till that moment stood in silence looking 
down, took two rapid steps forward and turned crimson. 

‘‘ Pyotr Stepanovitch, you've treated me cruelly,” he brought 
out abruptly. 

“Why cruelly ? How? But allow us to discuss the question 
of cruelty or gentleness later on. Now answer my first question ; 
is it true all that I have said or not? If you consider it’s false 
you are at liberty to give your own version at once.”’ | c 

“IT... you know yourself; Pyotr Stepanovitch,”’- the 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 179 


captain muttered, but he could not go on and relapsed into 
silence. It must be observed that Pyotr Stepanovitch was 
sitting in an easy chair with one leg crossed over the other, while 
the captain stood before him in the most respectful attitude. 

Lebyadkin’s hesitation seemed to annoy Pyotr Stepanovitch ; 
a spasm of anger distorted his face. 

“Then you have a statement you want to make ?”’ he said, 
looking subtly at the captain. ‘“ Kindly speak. We're waiting 
for you.” 

“You know yourself Pyotr Stepanovitch, that I can’t say 
anything.”’ 

“No, I don’t know it. It’s the first time I’ve heard it. Why 
can’t you speak ? ” 

The captain was silent, with his eyes on the ground. 

-“ Allow me to go, Pyotr Stepanovitch,’” he brought out 
resolutely. 

“No, not till you answer my question : is it all true that I’ve 
said 2” 

“It is true,” Lebyadkin brought out in a hollow voice, looking 
at his tormentor. Drops of perspiration stood out on his fore- 
head. 

“Ts it all true 2” 
 “Tt’s all true.” 

“Have you nothing to add or to observe? If you think 
that we've been unjust, say so; protest, state your grievance 
aloud.” 

“No, I think nothing.” 

“ Did you threaten Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch lately 2?” 

“Tt was ...it was more drink than anything, Pyotr 
Stepanovitch.” He suddenly raised his head. “If family 
honour and undeserved disgrace cry out among men then—then 
is a man to blame ?”’ he roared suddenly, forgetting himself as 
before. 

“ Are you sober now, Mr. Lebyadkin ? ” 

_ Pyotr Stepanovitch looked at him penetratingly. 
me Lam, ..., sober.” 

“What do you mean by family honour and undeserved 
disgrace ?”’ 
“TJ didn’t mean anybody, anybody at all. I meant myself,” 
the captain said, collapsing again. 
_ “You seem to be very much offended by what I’ve said about 
Yyouand your conduct? You are very irritable, Mr. Lebyadkin. 


180 THE POSSESSED 


But let me tell you Pve hardly begun yet what I’ve got to say 
about your conduct, in its real sense. I'll begin todiseuss your 
conduct in its real sense. I shall begin, that may very well 
happen, but so far I’ve not begun, in a real sense.” 

Lebyadkin started and stared wildly at Pyotr Stepanovitch. 

** Pyotr Stepanovitch, I am just beginning to wake up.” 

“H’m! And it’s I who have waked you up ?” 

“Yes, it’s you who have waked me, Pyotr Stepanovitch ; 
and I’ve been asleep for the last four years with a storm-cloud 
hanging over me. May I withdraw at last, Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch ?” 

“Now you may, unless Varvara Petrovna thinks it 
necessary ...” 

But the latter dismissed him with a wave of her hand. 

The captain bowed, took two steps towards the door, stopped 
suddenly, laid his hand on his heart, tried to say something, 
did not say it, and was moving quickly away. But in the 
doorway he came face to face with Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch ; 
the latter stood aside. The captain shrank into himself, as it 
were, before him, and stood as though frozen to the spot, his 
eyes fixed upon him like a rabbit before a boa-constrictor. 
After a little pause Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch waved him aside 
with a slight motion of his hand, and walked into the drawing- 
room. 


Vil 


He was cheerful and serene. Perhaps something very 


pleasant had happened to him, of which we knew nothing as 


yet; but he seemed particularly contented. 

‘Do you forgive me, Nicolas ?”? Varvara Petrovna hastened 
to say, and got up suddenly to meet him. 

But Nicolas positively laughed. 

‘* Just as I thought,” he said, good-humouredly and jestingly. 


**T see you know all about it already. When I had gone from | 
here I reflected in the carriage that I ought at least to have told © 
you the story instead of going off like that. But when I re- 
membered that Pyotr Stepanovitch was still here, I at 


no more of it.”’ 
As he spoke he took a cursory look round. 
“‘ Pyotr Stepanovitch told us an old Petersburg acing in the 





) 
i 
\ 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 18} 


life of a queer fellow,’’ Varvara Petrovna rejoined enthusiasti- 
eally—*‘ a mad and capricious fellow, though always lofty in his 
feelings, always chivalrous and noble. . . .” 

*‘Chivalrous ? You don’t mean to say it’s come to that,” 
laughed Nicolas. “However, I’m very grateful to Pyotr 
Stepanovitch for being in sucha hurry this time.” He exchanged 
a rapid glance with the latter. ‘You must know, maman, that 
Pyotr Stepanovitch is the universal peacemaker; that’s his 
part in life, his weakness, his hobby, and I particularly re- 
commend him to you from that point of view. I can guess 
what a yarn he’s been spinning. He’s a great hand at spinning 
them; he has a perfect record-office in his head.. He’s such a 
realist, you know, that he can’t tell a lie, and prefers truthfuiness 
to effect . . . except, of course, in special cases when effect 
is more important than truth.” (As he said this he was still 
looking about him.) ‘‘So, you see clearly, maman, that it’s not 
for you to ask my forgiveness, and if there’s any craziness about 
this affair it’s my fault, and it proves that, when all’s said and 
done, I really am mad. ... I must keep up my character 
mere. se. . 

Then he tenderly embraced his mother. 

‘In any case the subject has been fully discussed and is done 
with,” he added, and there was a rather dry and resolute note 
in his voice. Varvara Petrovna understood that note, but her 
exaltation was not damped, quite the contrary. 

_ “JT didn’t expect you for another month, Nicolas !”’ 

“I will explain everything to you, maman, of course, but 
maw... 

» And he went towards Praskovya Ivanovna. 

But she scarcely turned her head towards him, though she 
had been completely overwhelmed by his first appearance. 
Now she had fresh anxieties to think of; at the moment the 
captain had stumbled upon Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch as he was 
going out, Liza had suddenly begun laughing—at first quietly 
and intermittently, but her laughter grew more and more violent, 
louder and more conspicuous. She flushed crimson, in striking 
contrast with her gloomy expression just before. 

_ While Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was talking to Varvara — 
Petrovna, she had twice beckoned to Mavriky Nikolaevitch as 
though she wanted to whisper something to him; but as soon 
as the young man bent down to her, she instantly burst into 
laughter ; so that it seemed as though it was at poor Mavriky 


182 THE POSSESSED 


Nikolaevitch that she was laughing. She evidently tried to 
control herself, however, and put her handkerchief to her lips. 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch turned to greet her with a most 
innocent and open-hearted air. 

‘‘ Please excuse me,’ she responded, speaking quickly. 
““You ... you’ve seen Mavriky Nikolaevitch of course... . 
My goodness, how inexcusably tall you are, Mavriky Nikolae- 
vitch !”’ 

And laughter again, 

Mavriky Nikolaevitch was tall, but by no means inexcusably 
so. 


‘“Have . .. you been here long ?’”’ she muttered, restraining 
herself again, genuinely embarrassed though her eyes were 
shining. 


‘“More than two hours,’ answered Nicolas, looking at her 
intently. I may remark that he was exceptionally reserved and 
courteous, but that apart from his courtesy his expression 
was utterly indifferent, even listless. 

‘““ And where are you going to stay ?”’ 

€¢ Here. 23 

Varvara Petrovna, too, was watching Liza, but she was 
suddenly struck by an idea. 

‘‘ Where have you been all this time, Nicolas, more than two 
hours ?”’ she said, going up to him. “The train comes in at 
ten o’clock.”’ 

‘IT first took Pyotr Stepanovitch to Kirillov’s. I came across 
Pyotr Stepanovitch at Matveyev (three stations away), and we 
travelled together.” : 

_“T had been waiting at Matveyev since sunrise,” put in Pyotr 
Stepanovitch. ‘ The last carriages of our train ran off the rails 
in the night, and we nearly had our legs broken.” 

‘Your legs broken !”’ cried Liza. ‘‘ Maman, maman, you and 
I meant to go to Matveyev last week, we should have broken 
our legs too!” | 

‘‘ Heaven have mercy on us!” cried Praskovya Ivanovna, 
crossing herself. 
_ “Maman, maman, dear maman, you musn’t be frightened if 
I break both my legs. It may so easily happen to me; you say | 
yourself that I ride so recklessly every day. Mavriky Nikolae- | 
vitch, will you go about with me when I’m lame?” She began) 
giggling again. “If it does happen I won’t let anyone take me 
about but you, you can reckon on that. ... Well, suppose: 





THE SUBTLE SERPENT 183 


I break only one leg. Come, be polite, say you'll think it a 
pleasure.” 

“A pleasure to be crippled ?”’ said Mavriky Nikolaevitch, 
frowning gravely. 

** But then you'll lead me about, only you and no one else.” 

“Even then itll be you leading me about, Lizaveta 
Nikolaevna,’ murmured Mavriky Nikolaevitch, even more 
gravely. 

“Why, he’s trying to make a joke!”’ cried Liza, almost in 
dismay. ‘“‘ Mavriky Nikolaevitch, don’t you ever dare take to 
that! But what an egoist you are! I am certain that, to 
your credit, you’re slandering yourself. It will be quite 
the contrary; from morning till night you'll assure me that 
I have become more charming for having lost my leg. 
There’s one insurmountable difficulty—you’re so fearfully tall, 
and when I’ve lost my leg I shall be so very tiny. How will 
you be able to take me on your arm; we shall look a strange 
couple !”’ 

And she laughed hysterically. Her jests and insinuations 
were feeble, but she was not capable of considering the effect she 
was producing. 

‘“‘ Hysterics!’? Pyotr Stepanovitch whispered to me. “A 
glass of water, make haste !”’ 

He was right. A minute later every one was fussing about, 
water was brought. Liza embraced her mother, kissed her 
warmly, wept on her shoulder, then drawing back and looking 
her in the face she fell to laughing again. The mother too began 
whimpering. Varvara Petrovna made haste to carry them both 
off to her own rooms, going out by the same door by which 
Darya Pavlovna had come to us. But they were not away long, 
not more than four minutes. 

I am trying to remember now every detail of these last 
moments of that memorable morning. I remember that when 
we were left without the ladies (except Darya Pavlovna, who 
had not moved from her seat), Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch made 
the round, greeting us all except Shatov, who still sat in his 
corner, his head more bowed than ever. Stepan Trofimovitch 
was beginning something very witty to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, 
but the latter turned away hurriedly to Darya Pavlovna. But 
before he reached her, Pyotr Stepanovitch caught him and drew 
him away, almost violently, towards the window, where he 
whispered something quickly to him, apparently something very 


184 THE POSSESSED 


important to judge by the expression of his face and the gestures 
that accompanied the whisper. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
listened inattentively and listlessly with his official smile, and at 
last even impatiently, and seemed all the time on the point of 
breaking away. He moved away from the window just as the 
ladies came back. Varvara Petrovna made Liza sit down in the 
same seat as before, declaring that she must wait and rest 
another ten minutes; and that the fresh air would perhaps be 
too much for her nerves at once. She was looking after Liza 
with great devotion, and sat down beside her. Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch, now disengaged, skipped up to them at once, and broke 
into a rapid and lively flow of conversation. At that point 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch at last went up to Darya Pavlovna 
with his leisurely step. Dasha began stirring uneasily at his 
approach, and jumped up quickly in evident embarrassment, 
flushing all over her face. 

“ T believe one may congratulate you... or is it too soon 2?” 
he brought out with a peculiar line in his face. 

Dasha made him some answer, but it was difficult to cateh it. 

“‘ Forgive my indiscretion,”’ he added, raising his voice, “ but 
you know I was expressly informed. Did you know about it ?” 

““ Yes, I know that you were expressly informed.”’ 

** But I hope I have not done any harm by my congratula- 
tions,’ he laughed. ‘ And if Stepan Trofimovitch .. .” 

“What, what’s the congratulation about ?”’ Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch suddenly skipped up to them. ‘‘ What are you being 
congratulated about, Darya Pavlovna? Bah! Surely that’s 
not it? Your blush proves I’ve guessed right. And indeed, 
what else does one congratulate our charming and virtuous 
young ladies on? And what congratulations make them blush 
most readily ? Well, accept mine too, then, if I’ve guessed 
right! And pay up. Do you remember when we were in 
Switzerland you bet you’d never be married. ... Oh, yes, 
apropos of Switzerland—what am I thinking about? Only 
fancy, that’s half what I came about, and I was almost forget- 
ting it. Tell me,” he turned quickly to Stepan Trofimovitch, 
“when are you going to Switzerland ?”’ 

“i... to Switzerland?” Stepan Trofimovitch replied, 
wondering and confused. 

“What? Aren’t you going? Why you're getting married, 
too, you wrote ?”’ . | 

“ Pierre !”’ cried Stepan Trofimovitch. 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 185 


“Well, why Pierre? . . . Yousee, if that’ll please you, I’ve flown 
here to announce that I’m not at all against it, since you were set 
on having my opinion as quickly as possible; and if, indeed,” 
he pattered on, “you want to ‘be saved,’ as you wrote, be- 
seeching my help in the same letter, I am at your service again. 
Is it true that he is going to be married, Varvara Petrovna ?”’ 
He turned quickly to her. ‘I hope I’m not being indiscreet ; 
he writes himself that the whole town knows it and every one’s 
congratulating him, so that, to avoid it he only goes out at 
night. Dve got his letters in my pocket. But would you 
believe it, Varvara Petrovna, I can’t make head or tail of it ? 
Just tell me one thing, Stepan Trofimovitch, are you to be 
congratulated or are you to be ‘saved’? You wouldn’t believe 
It; in one line he’s despairing and in the next he’s most joyful. 
To begin with he begs my forgiveness ; well, of course, that’s 
their way . . . though it must be said; fancy, the man’s only 
seen me twice in his life and then by accident. And suddenly 
now, when he’s going to be married for the third time, he imagines 
that this is a breach of some sort of parental duty to me, and 
entreats me a thousand miles away not to be angry and to allow 
him to. Please don’t be hurt, Stepan Trofimovitch. It’s 
characteristic of your generation, I take a broad view of it, and 
don’t blame you. And let’s admit it does you honour and all 
the rest. But the point is again that I don’t see the point of it. 
‘There’s something about some sort of ‘sins in Switzerland.’ 
“Tm getting married,’ he says, for my sins or on account of the 
“sins’ of another,’ or whatever it is—‘ sins’ anyway. ‘The 
girl,’ says he, ‘is a pearl and a diamond,’ and, well, of course, he’s 
“unworthy of her’; it’s their way of talking; but on account 
of some sins or circumstances ‘he is obliged to lead her to the 
altar, and go to Switzerland, and therefore abandon everything 
‘and fly to save me.’ Do you understand anything of all that ? 
However . . . however, I notice from the expression of your 
faces ’’—(he turned about with the letter in his hand looking with 
an innocent smile into the faces of the company)—“ that, as 
usual, I seem to have put my foot in it through my stupid way 
of being open, or, as Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch says, “ being in a 
hurry.’ I thought, of course, that we were all friends here, that. 
is, your friends, Stepan Trofimovitch, your friends. I am really 
astranger,andIsee . . . and I see that you all know something, 
and that just that something I don’t know.” 

He still went on looking about him. 


186 THE POSSESSED 


‘‘So Stepan Trofimovitch wrote to you that he was getting 
married for the ‘sins of another committed in Switzerland,’ 
and that you were to fly here ‘to save him,’ in those very 
words ?”? said Varvara Petrovna, addressing him suddenly. | 
Her face was yellow and distorted, and her lips were twitching. 

‘‘ Well, you see, if there’s anything I’ve not understood,”’ said 
Pyotr Stepanovitch, as though in alarm, talking more quickly 
than ever, “‘ it’s his fault, of course, for writing like that. Here’s 
the letter. You know, Varvara Petrovna, his letters are endless 
and incessant, and, you know, for the last two or three months 
there has been letter upon letter, till, I must own, at last I 
sometimes didn’t read them through. Forgive me, Stepan 
Trofimovitch, for my foolish confession, but you must admit, 
please, that, though you addressed them to me, you wrote them 
more for posterity, so that you really can’t mind. ... Come, 
come, don’t be offended; ‘we’re friends, anyway. But this 
letter, Varvara Petrovna, this letter, I did read through. These 
“sins ’—these ‘sins of another’—are probably some little sins of 
our own, and I don’t mind betting very innocent ones, though 
they have suddenly made us take a fancy to work up a terrible 
story, with a glamour of the heroic about it ; and it’s just for the 
sake of that glamour we’ve got it up. You see there’s something 
a little lame about our accounts—it must be confessed, in the 
end. We’ve a great weakness for cards, you know. ... But 
this Is unnecessary, quite unnecessary, I’m sorry, I chatter too 
much. But upon my word, Varvara Petrovna, he gave me a 
fright, and I really was half prepared to save him. He really 
made me feel ashamed. Did he expect me to hold a knife to his 
throat, or what ? Am I such a merciless creditor ? He writes 
something here of a dowry. ... But are you really going to 
get married, Stepan Trofimovitch ? That would be just like 
you, to say a lot for the sake of talking. Ach, Varvara Petrovna, 
I’m sure you must be blaming me now, and just for my way of 
talking too... .” 

“On the contrary, on the contrary, I see that you are driven 
out of all patience, and, no doubt you have had good reason,” 
Varvara Petrovna answered spitefully. She had listened with 
spiteful enjoyment to all the ‘candid outbursts”? of Pyotr 
Stepanovitch, who was obviously playing a part (what part I 
did not know then, but it was unmistakable, and ONE Ana 
indeed). 

“On the contrary, 


99 


she went on, “I’m only too grateful ts 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 187 


you for speaking; but for you I might not have known of it. 
My eyes are opened for the first time for twenty years. Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch, you said just now that you had been expressly 
informed ; surely Stepan Trofimovitch hasn’t written to you in 
the same style ?”’ 

“I did get a very harmless and ...and... very generous 
letter from him... .” 

“You hesitate, you pick out your words. That’s enough ! 
Stepan Trofimovitch, I request a great favour from you.” She 
suddenly turned to him with flashing eyes. ‘“‘ Kindly leave us 
at once, and never set foot in my house again.”’ 

I must beg the reader to remember her recent “ exaltation,” 
which had not yet passed. It’s true that Stepan Trofimovitch 
was terribly to blame! But what was a complete surprise to me 
then was the wonderful dignity of his bearing under his son’s 
“accusation,” which he had never thought of interrupting, and 
before Varvara Petrovna’s “ denunciation.’ How did he come 
by such spirit ? I only found out one thing, that he had certainly 
been deeply wounded at his first meeting with Petrusha, by the 
way he had embraced him. It was a deep and genuine grief ; 
at least in his eyes and to his heart. He had another grief at 
the same time, that is the poignant consciousness of having acted 
contemptibly. He admitted this to me afterwards with perfect 
openness. And you know real genuine sorrow will sometimes 
make even a phenomenally frivolous, unstable man solid and 
stoical; for a short time at any rate; what’s more, even fools 
are by genuine sorrow turned into wise men, also only for a 
short time of course; it is characteristic of sorrow. And if so, 
what might not happen with a man like Stepan Trofimovitch ? 
It worked a complete transformation—though also only for a 
time, of course. 

He bowed with dignity to Varvara Petrovna without uttering 
a word (there was nothing else left for him to do, indeed). He 
was on the point of going out without a word, but could not 
refrain from approaching Darya Pavlovna. She seemed to 
foresee that he would do so, for she began speaking of her own 
accord herself, in utter dismay, as though in haste to anticipa 
him. 3 

‘Please, Stepan Trofimovitch, for God’s sake, don’t say 
anything,” she began, speaking with haste and excitement, with 
a look of pain in her face, hurriedly stretching out her hands 
to him. “ Be sure that I still respect you as much... and 


188 THE POSSESSED 


think just as highly of you, and... think well of me too, 
Stepan Trofimovitch, that will mean a great deal to me, a great 
deals 2 

Stepan Trofimovitch made her a very, very low bow. 

“It’s for you to decide, Darya Pavlovna ; you know that you 
are perfectly free in the whole matter! You have been, and 
you are now, and you always will be,” Varvara Petrovna con- 
cluded impressively. 

“Bah! Now I understand it all!” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
slapping himself on the forehead. “ But... but what a 
position [am putin by all this! Darya Pavlovna, please forgive 
me! ... What do you call your treatment of me, eh?” he 
said, addressing his father. 

“Pierre, you might speak to me differently, mightn’t you, 
my boy,” Stepan Trofimovitch observed quite quietly. 

‘“‘ Don’t cry out, please,”’ said Pierre, with a wave of his hand. 
‘* Believe me, it’s all your sick old nerves, and erying out will 
do no good at all. You'd better tell me instead, why didn’t you 
warn me since you might have supposed I should speak out at 
the first chance ? ” 

Stepan Trofimovitch looked searchingly at him. ) 

‘* Pierre, you who know so much of what goes on here, can 
you really have known nothing of this business and have heard 
nothing about it ?”’ 

“What? What a set! So it’s not enough to be a child in 
your old age, you must be a spiteful child too! Varvara 
Petrovna, did you hear what he said ?”’ 

There was a general outcry ; but then suddenly an incident 
took place which no one could have anticipated. 


VII 


First of all I must mention that, for the last two or three 
minutes Lizaveta Nikolaevna had seemed to be possessed by a 
new impulse; she was whispering something hurriedly to her 
mother, and to Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who bent down to listen. 
Her face was agitated, but at the same time it had a look of 
resolution. At last she got up from her seat in evident haste to 
go away, and hurried her, mother whom Mavriky Nikolaevitch 
began helping up from her low chair. But it seemed they were 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT 189 


not destined to get away without seeing everything to the 
end. 

- Shatov, can had been forgotten by every one in his corner 
(not far from Lizaveta Nikolaevna), and who did not seem to 
know himself why he went on sitting there, got up from his 
chair, and walked, without haste, with resolute steps right across 
the room to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, looking him straight in 
the face. The latter noticed him approaching at some distance, 
and faintly smiled, but when Shatov was close to him he left 
off smiling. 

When Shatov stood still facing him with his eyes fixed on 
him, and without uttering a word, every one suddenly noticed 
it and there was a general hush ;. Pyotr Stepanovitch was the 
last to cease speaking. Liza and her mother were standing in 
the middle of the room. So passed five seconds; the look of 
haughty astonishment was followed by one of anger on Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch’s face ; he scowled. 

And suddenly Shatov swung his long, heavy arm, and with 
all his might struck him a blow i in the face. Nikolay Vsyevo- 
lodovitch staggered violently. 

Shatov struck the blow in a peculiar way, not at all after the 
conventional fashion (if one may use such an expression). It 
was nota slap with the palm of his hand, but a blow with the 
whole fist, and it was a big, heavy, bony fist covered with red 
hairs and freckles. If the blow had struck the nose, it would 
have broken it. But it hit him on the cheek, and struck the 
left corner of the lip and the upper teeth, from which blood 
streamed at once. 

I believe there was a sudden scream, perhaps Varvara 
Petrovna screamed—that I don’t remember, because there was 
a dead hush again; the whole scene did not last more than ten 
seconds, however. 

Yet a very great deal happened i in those seconds. 

I must remind the reader again that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s 
was one of those natures that know nothing of fear. At a duel 
he could face the pistol of his opponent with indifference, and 
could take aim and kill with brutal coolness. If anyone had 
slapped him in the face, I should have expected him not to 
challenge his assailant to a duel, but to murder him on the spot. 
He was just one of those characters, and would have killed the 
man, knowing very well what he was doing, and without losing 
his self-control. I fancy, indeed, that he never was liable to 


190 THE POSSESSED 


those fits of blind rage which deprive a man of all power of 
reflection. Even when overcome with intense anger, as he 
sometimes was, he was always able to retain complete self- 
control, and therefore to realise that he would certainly be sent 
to penal servitude for murdering a man not in a duel; neverthe- 
less, he’d have killed any one who insulted him, and without the 
faintest hesitation. 

I have been studying Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch of late, and 
through special circumstances I know a great many facts about 
him now, at the time I write. I should compare him, perhaps, 
with some gentlemen of the past of whom legendary traditions 
are still perceived among us. We are told, for instance, about 
the Decabrist L—n, that he was always seeking for danger, that 
he revelled in the sensation, and that it had become a craving 
of his nature; that in his youth he had rushed into duels for 
nothing; that in Siberia he used to go to kill bears with nothing 
but a knife; that in the Siberian forests he liked to meet with 
runaway convicts, who are, I may observe in passing, more 
formidable than bears. There is no doubt that these legendary 
gentlemen were capable of a feeling of fear, and even to an 
extreme degree, perhaps, or they would have been a great deal 
quieter, and a sense of danger would never have become a 
physical craving with them. But the conquest of fear was what 
fascinated them. The continual ecstasy of vanquishing and 
the consciousness that no one could vanquish them was what 
attracted them. The same L—n struggled with hunger for some 
time before he was sent into exile, and toiled to earn his daily 
bread simply because he did not care to comply with the 
requests of his rich father, which he considered unjust. So his 
conception of struggle was many-sided, and he did not prize 
stoicism and strength of character only in duels and bear- 
fights. 

But many years have passed since those times, and the nervous, 
exhausted, complex character of the men of to-day is incompatible 
with the craving for those direct and unmixed sensations which 
were so sought after by some restlessly active gentlemen of the 
good old days. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch would, perhaps, have 
looked down on L-—n, and have called him a boastful cock-a- 
hoop coward; it’s true he wouldn’t have expressed himself 
aloud. Stavrogin would have shot his opponent in a duel, and 
would have faced a bear if necessary, and would have defended 
himself from a brigand in the forest as successfully and as fear- 


THE SUBTLE SERPENT Toh 


lessly as L—n, but it would be without the slightest thrill of enjoy- 
ment, languidly, listlessly, even with ennui and entirely from 
unpleasant necessity. Im anger, of course, there has been a 
progress compared with L—n, even compared with Lermontov. 
There was perhaps more malignant anger in Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
viten than in both put together, but it was a calm, cold, if one 
may so say, reasonable anger, and therefore the most revolting 
and most terrible possible. I repeat again, I considered him 
then, and [ still consider him (now that everything is over), a 
man who, if he received a slap in the face, or any equivalent 
insult, would be certain to kill his assailant at once, on the spot, 
without challenging him. 

Yet, in the present case, what happened was something 
different and amazing. 

He had scarcely regained his balance after being almost 
knocked over in this humiliating way, and the horrible, as it were, 
sodden, thud of the blow in the face had scarcely died away in 
the room when he seized Shatov by the shoulders with both 
hands, but at once, almost at the same instant, pulled both 
hands away and clasped them behind his back. He did not 
speak, but looked at Shatov, and turned as white as his shirt. 
But, strange to say, the light in his eyes seemed to die out. 
Ten seconds later his. eyes looked cold, and I’m sure I’m not 
lying—calm. Only he was terribly pale. Of course I don’t 
know what was passing within the man, I saw only his exterior. 
It seems to me that if a man should snatch up a bar of red-hot 
iron and hold it tight in his hand to test his fortitude, and after 
struggling for ten seconds with insufferable pain end by over- 
coming it, such a man would, I fancy, go through something like 
what Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was enduring during those ten 
seconds. 

Shatov was the first to drop his eyes, and evidently because 
he was unable to go on facing him; then he turned slowly and 
walked out of the room, but with a very different step. He 
withdrew quietly, with peculiar awkwardness, with his shoulders 
hunched, his head hanging as though he were inwardly pondering 
something. I believe he was whispering something. He made 
his way to the door carefully, without stumbling against any- 
thing or knocking anything over; he opened the door a very 
little way, and squezed through almost sideways. As he went 
out his shock of hair standing on end at the back of his head was 
particularly noticeable. 


192 THE POSSESSED 


Then first of all one fearful scream was heard. I saw Lizaveta 
' Nikolaevna seize her mother by the shoulder and Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch by the arm and make two or three violent efforts 
to draw them out of the room. But she suddenly uttered a 
shriek, and fell full length on the floor, fainting. I can hear the 
thud of her head on the carpet to this day. 





PRD] 


CHAPTER I 
NIGHT 
I 


Ezeut days had passed. Now that it is all over and I am writing 
a record of it, we know all about it; but at the time we knew 
nothing, and it was natural that many things should seem strange 
to us: Stepan Trofimovitch and I, anyway, shut ourselves up 
for the first part of the time, and looked on with dismay from 
a distance. I did, indeed, go about here and there, and, as 
before, brought him various items of news, without which he 
could not exist. 

I need hardly say that there were rumours of the most varied 
kind going about the town in regard to the blow that Stavrogin 
had received, Lizaveta Nikolaevna’s fainting fit, and ail 
that happened on that Sunday. But what we wondered was, 
through whom the story had got about so quickly and so 
accurately. Not one of the persons present had any need to 
give away the secret of what had happened, or interest to serve 
by doing so. 

The servants had not been present. Lebyadkin was the only 
one who might have chattered, not so much from spite, for 
he had gone out in great alarm (and fear of an enemy destroys 
spite against him), but simply from incontinence of speech. 
But Lebyadkin and his sister had disappeared next day, and 
nothing could be heard of them. There was no trace of them 
at Filipov’s house, they had moved, no one knew where, and 
seemed to have vanished. Shatov, of whom I wanted to 
inquire about Marya Timofyevna, would not open his door, 
and I believe sat locked up in his room for the whole of those 
eight days, even discontinuing his work in the town. He would 
not see me. I went to see him on Tuesday and knocked at his 
door. I got no answer, but being convinced by unmistakable evi- 


dence that he was at home, I knocked a second time. Then, 
193 N 


194 THE POSSESSED 


jumping up, apparently from his bed, he strode to the door and 
shouted at the top of his voice : | 

“‘ Shatov is not at home !”’ 

With that I went away. 

Stepan Trofimovitch and I, not without dismay at the boldness 
of the supposition, though we tried to encourage one another, 
reached at last a conclusion : we made up our mind that the only 
person who could be responsible for spreading these rumours 
was Pyotr Stepanovitch, though he himself not long after 
assured his father that he had found the story on every one’s 
lips, especially at the club, and that the governor and his wife 
were familiar with every detail of it. What is even more 
remarkable is that the next day, Monday evening, I met Liputin, 
and he knew every word that had been passed, so that he must 
have heard it first-hand. Many of the ladies (and some of the 
leading ones) were very inquisitive about the “ mysterious 
cripple,” as they called Marya Timofyevna. There were some, 
indeed, who were anxious to see her and make her acquaintance, 
so the intervention of the persons who had been in such haste 
to conceal the Lebyadkins was timely. But Lizaveta Niko- 
laevna’s fainting certainly took the foremost place in the story, 
and ‘‘all society ’’ was interested, if only because it directly con- 
cerned Yulia Mihailovna, as the kinswoman and patroness of 
the young lady. And what was there they didn’t say! What 
increased the gossip was the mysterious position of affairs; 
both houses were obstinately closed; Lizaveta Nikolaevna, so 
they said, was in bed with brain fever. The same thing was 
asserted of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, with the revolting addition 
of a tooth knocked out and a swollen face. It was even whispered 
in corners that there would soon be murder among us, that Stav- 
rogin was not the man to put up with such an insult, and that 
he would kill Shatov, but with the secrecy of a Corsican vendetta. 
People liked this idea, but the majority of our young people 
listened with contempt, and with an air of the most nonchalant 
indifference, which was, of course, assumed. The old hostility 
to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch in the town was in general strikingly 
manifest. Even sober-minded people were eager to throw 
blame on him though they could not have said for what. It 
was whispered that he had ruined Lizaveta Nikolaevna’s repu- 
tation, and that there had been an intrigue between them in 
Switzerland. Cautious people, of course, restrained themselves, | 
but all listened with relish. There were other things said, 


NIGHT 195 


though not in public, but in private, on rare occasions and almost 
in secret, extremely strange things, to which I only refer to 
warn my readers of them with a view to the later events of my 
story. Some people, wth knitted brows, said, God knows on 
what foundation, that Nikolay Vsyevolocovitch had some special — 
business in our province, that he had, through Count K., been 
brought into touch with exalted circles in Petersburg, that he was 
even, perhaps, in government service, and might almost be said 
to have been furnished with some sort of commission from some 
one. When very sober-minded and sensible people smiled at 
this rumour, observing very reasonably that a man always 
mixed up with scandals, and who was beginning his career 
among us, with a swollen face did not look like a government 
official, they were told in a whisper that he was employed not in 
the official, but, so to say, the confidential service, and that in 
such cases it was essential to be as little like an official as possible. 
This remark produced a sensation; we knew that the Zemstvo 
of our province was the object of marked attention in the capital. 
I repeat, these were only flitting rumours that disappeared for 
a time when Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch first came among us. 
But I may observe that many of the rumours were partly due 
to a few brief but malicious words, vaguely and disconnectedly 
dropped at the club by a gentleman who had lately returned from 
Petersburg. This was a retired captain in the guards, Artemy 
Pavlovitch Gaganov. He was a very large landowner in our 
province and district, a man used to the society of Petersburg, 
and a son of the late Pavel Pavlovitch Gaganov, the venerable 
old man with whom Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had, over four 
years before, had the extraordinarily coarse and sudden encounter 
which I have described already in the beginning of my story. 

It immediately became known to every one that Yulia. 
Mihailovna had made a special call on Varvara Petrovna, and 
had been informed at the entrance : ““ Her honour was too unwell 
to see visitors.”’ It was known, too, that Yulia Mihailovna sent 
a& message two days later to inquire after Varvara Petrovna’s 
health. At last she began “defending” Varvara Petrovna 
everywhere, of course only in the loftiest sense, that is, in the 
vaguest possible way. She listened coldly and sternly to the 
hurried remarks made at first about the scene on Sunday, so that 
during the later days they were not renewed in her presence. 
So that the belief gained ground everywhere that Yulia Mihail- 
ovna knew not only the whole of the mysterious story but all 


196 THE POSSESSED 


its secret significance to the smallest detail, and not as an out- 
sider, but as one taking part in it. I may observe, by the way, 
that she was already gradually beginning to gain that exalted 
influence among us for which she was so eager and which she was 
certainly struggling to win, and was already beginning to see 
herself ‘‘ surrounded by a circle.” A section of society recog- 
nised her practical sense and tact . . . but of that later. Her 
patronage partly explained Pyotr Stepanovitch’s rapid success 
in our society—a success with which Stepan Trofimovitch was 
particularly impressed at the time. 

We possibly exaggerated it. To begin with, Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch seemed to make acquaintance almost instantly with the 
whole town within the first four days of his arrival. He only 
arrived on Sunday ; and on Tuesday I saw him in a carriage with 
Artemy Pavlovitch Gaganov, a man who was proud, irritable, 
and supercilious, in spite of his good breeding, and who was not 
easy to get on with. At the governor’s, too, Pyotr Stepanovitch 
met with a warm welcome, so much so that he was at once on an 
intimate footing, like a young friend, treated, so to say, affec- 
tionately. He dined with Yulia Mihailovna almost every day. 
He had made her acquaintance in Switzerland, but there was 
certainly something curious about the rapidity of his success in 
the governor’s house. In any case he was reputed, whether 
truly or not, to have been at one time a revolutionist abroad, he 
had had something to do with some publications and some con- 
gresses abroad, ‘which one can prove from the newspapers,” 
to quote the malicious remark of Alyosha Telyatnikov, who had 
also been once a young friend affectionately treated in the house 
of the late governor, but was now, alas, a clerk on the retired list. 
But the fact was unmistakable: the former revolutionist, far 
from being hindered from returning to his beloved Fatherland, 
seemed almost to have been encouraged to do so, so perhaps there 
was nothing in it. Liputin whispered to me once that there 
were rumours that Pyotr Stepanovitch had once professed himself 
penitent, and on his return had been pardoned on mentioning 
certain names and so, perhaps, had succeeded in expiating his 
offence, by promising to be of use to the government in the 
future. I repeated these malignant phrases to Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch, and although the latter was in such a state that he was 
hardly capable of reflection, he pondered profoundly. It turned 
out later that Pyotr Stepanovitch had come to us with a very, 
influential letter of recommendation, that he had, at any rate, 





NIGHT 197 


brought one to the governor’s wife from a very important old 
lady in Petersburg, whose husband was one of the most dis- 
tinguished old dignitaries in the capital. This old lady, who 
was Yulia Mihailovna’s godmother, mentioned in her letter that 
Count K. knew Pyotr Stepanovitch very well through Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch, made much of him, and thought him “‘ a very 
excellent young man in spite of his former errors.” Yulia 
Mihailovna set the greatest value on her relations with the 
“ higher spheres,’’ which were few and maintained with difficulty, 
and was, no doubt, pleased to get the old lady’s letter, but still 
there was something peculiar about it. She even forced her 
husband upon a familiar footing with Pyotr Stepanovitch, so much 
so that Mr. von Lembke complained of it . . . but of that, too, 
later. I may mention, too, that the great author was also 
favourably disposed to Pyotr Stepanovitch, and at once invited 
him to go and see him. Such alacrity on the part of a man so 
puffed up with conceit stung Stepan Trofimovitch more painfully 
than anything ; but I put a different interpretation on it. In 
inviting a nihilist to see him, Mr. Karmazinov, no doubt, had in 
view his relations with the progressives of the younger generation 
in both capitals. The great author trembled nervously before 
the revolutionary youth of Russia, and imagining, in his igno- 
rance, that the future lay in their hands, fawned upon them in a 
despicable way, chiefly because they paid no attention to him 
whatever. 


II 


Pyotr Stepanovitch ran round to see his father twice, but 
unfortunately I was absent on both occasions. He visited him 
for the first time only on Wednesday, that is, not till the fourth 
day after their first meeting, and then only on business. Their 
difficulties over the property were settled, by the way, without 
fuss or publicity. Varvara Petrovna took it all on herself, 
and paid all that was owing, taking over the land, of course, and 
only informed Stepan Trofimovitch that it was all settled and her 
butler, Alexey Yegorytch, was, by her authorisation, bringing him. 
something to sign. This Stepan Trofimovitch did, in, silence, 
with extreme dignity. Apropos of his dignity, I may mention 
that I hardly recognised my old friend during those days. He 
behaved as he had never done before: became amazingly taciturn 


198 THE POSSESSED 


and had not even written one letter to Varvara Petrovna since 
Sunday, which seemed to me almost a miracle. What’s more, 
he had become quite calm. He had fastened upon a final and 
decisive idea which gave him tranquillity. That was evident. 
He had hit upon this idea, and sat still, expecting something. 
At first, however, he was ill, especially on Monday. He had 
an attack of his summer cholera. He could not: remain all 
that time without news either; but as soon as I departed from 
the statement of facts, and began discussing the case in itself, 
and formulated any theory, he at once gesticulated to me to stop. 
But both his interviews with his son had a distressing effect on 
him, though they did not shake his determination. After each 
interview he spent the whole day lying on the sofa with a hand- 
kerchief soaked in vinegar on his head. But he continued to 
remain calm in the deepest sense. 

Sometimes, however, he did not hinder my speaking. Some- 
times, too, it seemed to me that the mysterious determination 
he had taken seemed to be failing him and he appeared to be 
struggling with a new, seductive stream of ideas. That was 
only at moments, but lmadea note of it. Isuspected that. he was 
longing to assert himself again, to come forth from his seclusion, 
to show fight, to struggle to the last. 

‘““ Cher, | could crush them!” broke from him on Thursday 
evening after his second interview with Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
when he lay stretched on the sofa with his head wrapped in a 
towel. 

Till that moment he had not uttered one word all day. 

“ Fils, fils, cher,” and so on, ‘‘I agree all those expressions are | 
nonsense, kitchen talk, and so be it. Iseeit for myself. I never 
gave him food or drink, I sent him a tiny baby from Berlin to 
X province by post, and all that, Ladmit it. . . . ‘ You gave me 
neither food nor drink, and sent me by post,’ he says, ‘and 
what’s more you ve robbed me here.’ ”’ 

‘** But you unhappy boy,’ I cried to him, ‘ my heart has been 
aching for you all my life; though I did send you by post.’ 
Llinit?? 

“But I admit it. I ddsstit it, granted it was by post,” he 
concluded, almost in delirium. 

‘‘ Passons,’ he began again, five minutes later. ‘‘I don’t 


understand Turgenev. That Bazarov of his is a fictitious figure, 


it does not exist anywhere. The fellows themselves were the 
first to disown him as unlike anyone. That Bazarovis a sort of 





NIGHT 199 


indistinct mixture of Nozdryov and Byron, c’est le mot. Look at 
them attentively: they caper about and squeal with joy like 
puppies in the sun. They are happy, they are victorious! 
What is there of Byron in them! ... and with that, such 
ordinariness! What a low-bred, irritable vanity ? What an 
abject craving to faire du bruit autour de son nom, without 
noticing that son nom. ... Oh, it’s a caricature! ‘Surely,’ 
I cried to him, * you don’t want to offer yourself just as you 
are as a substitute for Christ?’ Jlrit. Il rit beaucoup. Il rit 
trop. He has a strange smile. His mother had not a smile like 
that. Il rit toujours.” 

Silence followed again. 

‘““ They are cunning ; they were acting in collusion on Sunday,”’ 
he blurted out suddenly... . 

“‘ Oh, not a doubt of it,’ I cried, pricking up my ears. “It 
was a got-up thing and it was too transparent, and so badly 
acted.’’ 

“T don’t mean that. Do you know that it was all too trans- 
parent on purpose, that those . . . who had to, might understand 
it. Do you understand that ? ” 

“‘T don’t understand.” 

“ Tant mieux ; passons. Iam very irritable to-day.” 

** But why have you been arguing with him, Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch ?”’ I asked him reproachfully. 

“Je voulais convertir—you'll laugh of course—cetie pauvre 
auntie, elle entendra de belles choses / Ob, my dear boy, would 
you believe it. I felt like a patriot. I always recognised that L 
was a Russian, however . . . a genuine Russian must be like you 
and me. Il ya la dedans quelque chose d’aveugie et de lowche.”’ 

‘* Not a doubt of it,’’ I assented. 

“My dear, the real truth always sounds improbable, do you 
know that ? To make truth sound probable you must always 
mix in some falsehood with it. Men have always done so. 
Perhaps there’s something in it that passes our understanding. 
What do you think: is there something we don’t understand 
in that triumphant squeal? I should like to think there was. 
I should like to think so.” 

I did not speak. He, too, was silent for a long time. 

“They say that French cleverness ...”’ he babbled sud- 
denly, as though in a fever... “that’s false, it always has 
been. Why libel French cleverness? It’s simply Russian in- 
dolence, our degrading impotence to produce ideas, our revolting 


200 | THE POSSESSED 


parasitism in the rank of nations. Ils sont tout simplement des 
paresseux, and not French cleverness. Oh, the Russians ought 
to be extirpated for the good of humanity, like noxious parasites ! 
We’ve been striving for something utterly, utterly different 
I can make nothing of it. I have given up understanding. 
‘Do you understand,’ I cried to him, ‘that if you have the 
guillotine in the foreground of your programme and are so 
enthusiastic about it too, it’s simply because nothing’s easier 
than cutting off heads, and nothing’s harder than to have 
an idea. Vous étes des paresseux! Votre drapeau est un 
guenille, une impurssance. It’s those carts, or, what was it?... 
‘the rumble of the carts carrying bread to humanity ”’ being more 
important than the Sistine Madonna, or, what’s the saying? ... 
une bélise dans ce genre. Don’t you understand, don’t you 
understand,’ I said te him, ‘that unhappiness is just as necessary 
to man as happiness.’ Jl rit. ‘ All you do is to make a bon 
mot, he said, ‘ with your limbs snug on a velvet sofa.’ ... 
(fle used a coarser expression.) And this habit of addressing 
a father so famiharly is very nice when father and son are on 
good terms, but what do you think of it when they are abusing 
one another ?”’ | 

We were silent again for a minute. 

“ Cher,”’ he concluded at last, getting up quickly, “do you 
know this is bound to end in something ? ”’ 

** Of course,” said I. 

““ Vous ne comprenez pas. Passons. But... usually in our 
world things come to nothing, but this will end in something ; 
it’s bound to, it’s bound to!” 

He got up, and walked across the room in violent emotion, 
and coming back to the sofa sank on to it exhausted. 

On Friday morning, Pyotr Stepanovitch went off somewhere 
in the neighbourhood, and remained away till Monday. I heard 
of his departure from Liputin, and in the course of conversation 
I learned that the Lebyadkins, brother and sister, had moved to 
the riverside quarter. “‘ I moved them,” he added, and, dropping 
the Lebyadkins, he suddenly announced to me that Lizaveta 
Nikolaevna was going to marry Mavriky Nikolaevitch, that, 
although it had not been announced, the engagement was a 
settled thing. Next day I met Lizaveta Nikolaevna out riding 
with Mavriky Nikolaevitch ; she was out for the first time after 
her illness. She beamed at me from the distance, laughed, and ° 
nodded in a very friendly way. I told all this to Stepan Trofimo- 


NIGHT 201 


vitch; he paid no attention, except to the news about the 
Lebyadkins. 

And now, having described our enigmatic position throughout 
those eight days during which we knew nothing, I will pass 
on to the description of the succeeding incidents of my chronicle, 
writing, so to say, with full knowledge, and describing things 
as they became known afterwards, and are clearly seen to-day. 
I will begin with the eighth day after that Sunday, that is, the 
Monday evening—for in reality a “ new scandal ”’ began with that 
evening. 


III 


It was seven o’clock in the evening. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
was sitting alone in his study—the room he had been fond of in 
old days. It was lofty, carpeted with rugs, and contained 
somewhat heavy old-fashioned furniture. He was sitting on the 
_ sofa in the corner, dressed as though to go out, though he did 
not seem to be intending todoso. On the table before him stood 
alamp with ashade. ‘The sides and corners of the big room were 
left in shadow. His eyes looked dreamy and concentrated, not 
altogether tranquil; his face looked tired and had grown a little 
thinner. He really was ill with a swollen face ; but the story of 
a tooth having been knocked out was an exaggeration. One 
had been loosened, but it had grown into its place again : he had 
had a cut on the inner side of the upper lip, but that, too, had 
healed. The swelling on his face had lasted all the week simply 
because the invalid would not have a doctor, and instead of having 
the swelling lanced had waited for it to go down. He would not 
hear of a doctor, and would scarcely allow even his mother to 
come near him, and then only for a moment, once a day, and only 
at dusk, after it was dark and before lights had been brought in. 
He did not receive Pyotr Stepanovitch either, though the latter 
ran round to Varvara Petrovna’s two or three times a day so 
long as he remained in the town. And now, at last, returning 
on the Monday morning after his three days’ absence, Pyotr 
Stepanovitch made a circuit of the town, and, after dining at. 
Yulia Mihailovna’s, came at last in the evening to Varvara 
_ Petrovna, who was impatiently expecting him. The interdict 
had been removed, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was “at home.” 
Varvara Petrovna herself led the visitor to the door of the study ; 


202 THE POSSESSED 


she had long looked forward to their meeting, and Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch had promised to run to her and repeat what passed. She 
knocked timidly at Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s door, and getting 
no answer ventured to open the door a couple of inches. | 

‘‘ Nicolas, may I bring Pyotr Stepanovitch in to see you?” 
she asked, in a soft and restrained voice, trying to make out 
her son’s face behind the lamp. 

“You can, you can, of course you can,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch 
himself cried out, loudly and gaily. He opened the door with 
his hand and went in. 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had not heard the knock at the door, 
and only caught his mother’s timid question, and had not had 
time to answer it. Before him, at that moment, there lay a letter 
he had just read over, which he was pondering deeply. He started, 
hearing Pyotr Stepanovitch’s sudden outburst, and hurriedly put 
the letter under a paper-weight, but did not quite succeed; a 
corner of the letter and almost the whole envelope showed. 

‘“‘T called out on purpose that you might be prepared,” Pyotr 
Stepanovitch said hurriedly, with surprising naiveté, running 
up to the table, and instantly staring at the corner of the letter, 
which peeped out from beneath the paper-weight. : 

‘“‘ And no doubt you had time to see how I hid the letter I had 
just received, under the paper-weight,”’ said Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
vitch calmly, without moving from his place. 

“A letter? Bless you and your letters, what are they to do 
with me ?”’ cried the visitor. ‘‘ But . .. what does matter...” 
he whispered again, turning to the door, which was by now closed, 
and nodding his head in that direction. 

‘* She never listens,’’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch observed coldly. 

‘What if she did overhear?” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
raising his voice cheerfully, and settling down in an arm-chair. 
“ [ve nothing against that, only I’ve come here now to speak to 
you alone. Well, at last I’ve succeeded in getting at you. First of 
all,howare you? Isee you’re getting onsplendidly. To-morrow 
you'll show yourself again—eh ? ”’ 


** Perhaps.” 
‘Set their minds at rest. Set mine at rest at last.” He 
gesticulated violently with a jocose and amiable air. “ Ifonly 


you knew what nonsense I’ve had to talk to them. You know, 
though.” He laughed. 

““T don’t know everything. I only heard from my ab tied 
that you've been . . . very active.” 


NIGHT 203 


“Oh, well, I’ve said nothing definite,” Pyotr Stepanovitch 
flared up at once, as though defending himself from an awful 
attack. “‘I simply trotted out Shatov’s wife; you know, that is, 
the rumours of your liaison in Paris, which accounted, of course, 
for what happened on Sunday. You're not angry ?”’ 

“Tm sure you ve done your best.” 

“ Oh, that’s just what I was afraid of. Though what does 
that mean, ‘done your best’? That’s a reproach, isn’t it ? 
You always go straight for things, though... . What I was 
most afraid of, as I came here, was that you wouldn’t go straight 
for the point.”’ 

“I don’t want to go straight for anything,” said Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch with some irritation. But he laughed at once. 
“JT didn’t mean that, I didn’t mean that, don’t make a 

mistake,’’ cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, waving his hands, rattling 
his words out like peas, and at once relieved at his companion’s 
irritability. “‘I’m not going to worry you with owr business, 
especially in your present position. I’ve only come about 
Sunday’s affair, and only to arrange the most necessary steps, 
because, you see, it’s impossible. I’ve come with the frankest 
explanations which I stand in more need of than you—so much 
for your vanity, but at the same time it’s true. I’ve come to be 
open with you from this time forward.”’ 

‘Then you have not been open with me before ? ”’ 

“You know that yourself. I’ve been cunning with you many 
times .. . yousmile; I’m very glad of that smile as a prelude 
to our explanation. I provoked that smile on purpose by using 
the word ‘ cunning,’ so that you might get cross directly at my 
daring to think I could be cunning, so that I might have a chance 
of explaining myself at once. You see, you see how open I have 
become now! Well, do you care to listen ? ” 

In the expression of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s face, which was 
contemptuously composed, and even ironical, in spite of his 
visitor’s obvious desire to irritate him by the insolence of his 
premeditated and intentionally coarse naivetés, there was, at 
last, a look of rather uneasy curiosity. 

‘ Listen,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, wriggling more than ever, 
“‘ when I set off to come here, I mean here in the large sense, 
to this town, ten days ago, I made up my mind, of course, to 
assume a character. It would have been best to have done 
without anything, to have kept one’s own character, wouldn't it ? 
There is no better dodge than one’s own character, because no one 


204 THE POSSESSED 


believesinit. I meant, I must own, toassume the part of a fool, 
because it is easier to be a fool than to act one’s own character ; 
but as a fool is after all something extreme, and anything extreme 
excites curiosity, I ended by sticking to my own character. And 
what is my own character ? The golden mean : neither wise nor 
foolish, rather stupid, and dropped from the moon, as sensible 
people say here, isn’t that it ?”’ 

“Perhaps it is,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, with a faint 
smile. 

‘“ Ah, you agree—I’m very glad; I knew beforehand that it 
was your own opinion. ... You needn’t trouble, I am not 
annoyed, and I didn’t describe myself in that way to get a 
flattering contradiction from you—no, you're not stupid, you're 
clever. ... Ah! youre smiling again! ... I’ve blundered 
once more. You would not have said ‘ you’re clever,’ granted ; 
Tllletit passanyway. Passons, as papa says, and, in parenthesis, 
don’t be vexed with my verbosity. By the way, I always say a 
lot, that is, use a great many words and talk very fast, and 
I never speak well. And why do I use so many words, and 
why do I never speak well? Because I don’t know how to 
speak. People who can speak well, speak briefly. So that I am 
stupid, am I not? But as this gift of stupidity is natural to me, 
why shouldn’t I make skilful use of it? And I do make use of 
it. It’s true that as I came here, I did think, at first, of being 
silent. But you know silence is a great talent, and therefore 
incongruous for me, and secondly silence would be risky, anyway. 
So I made up my mind finally that it would be best to talk, but 
to talk stupidly—that is, to talk and talk and talk—to be in 
a tremendous hurry to explain things, and in the end to get 
muddled in my own explanations, so that my listener would 
walk away without hearing the end, with a shrug, or, better still, 
with acurse. You succeed straight off in persuading them of your 
simplicity, in boring them and in being incomprehensible—three 
advantages all at once! Do you suppose anybody will suspect 
you of mysterious designs after that ? Why, every one of them 
would take it as a personal affront if anyone were to say I had 
secret designs. And I sometimes amuse them too, and that’s 
priceless. Why, they’re ready to forgive me everything now, 
just because the clever fellow who used to publish manifestoes 
out there turns out to be stupider than themselves—that’s go, 
isn’tit ? From your smile I see you approve.” 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was not smiling at all, however. 


NIGHT 205 


On the contrary, he was listening with a frown and some 
impatience. 

“Eh? What? I believe you said ‘no matter.’ ”’ 

Pyotr Stepanovitch rattled on. (Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
had said nothing at all.) “Of course, of course. I assure you 
I’m not here to compromise you by my company, by claiming 
you as my comrade. But do you know yow’re horribly captious 
to-day ; I ran in to you with a light and open heart, and you 
seem to be laying upevery word I say against me. [assure you I’m 
not going to begin about anything shocking to-day, I give you 
my word, and I agree beforehand to all your conditions.” 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was obstinately silent. 

“Eh? What? Did you say something? I see, I see that 
I’ve made a blunder again, it seems; you've not suggested 
conditions and you're not going to; I believe you, I believe you; 
well, you can set your mind at rest ; I know, of course, that it’s 
not worth while for me to suggest them, isit ? Dll answer for you 
beforehand, and—just from stupidity, of course ; stupidity again. 

. You’re laughing? Eh? What?” 

“Nothing,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch laughed at last. ‘I 
just remembered that I really did call you stupid, but you weren’t 
there then, so they must have repeated it. . . . 1 wouldask you 
to make haste and come to the point.” 

“Why, but 1 am at the point! [am talking about Sunday,” 
babbled Pyotr Stepanovitch. “‘ Why, what was I on Sunday ? 
What would you callit ? Just fussy, mediocre stupidity, and in 
the stupidest way I took possession of the conversation by force. 
But they forgave me everything, first because I dropped from 
the moon, that seems to be settled here, now, by every one; 
and, secondly, because I told them a pretty little story, and 
got you all out of a scrape, didn’t they, didn’t they ?”’ 

“ That is, you told your story so as to leave them in doubt 
and suggest some compact and collusion between us, when there 
was no collusion and I’d not asked you to do anything.” 

“ Just so, just so!” Pyotr Stepanovitch caught him up, 
apparently delighted. ‘That’s just what I did do, for I 
wanted you to see that I implied it; I exerted myself chiefly 
for your sake, for I caught you and wanted to compromise you, 
above all I wanted to find out how far you're afraid.” 

‘‘ Tt would be interesting to know why you are so open now ?¢”’ 

“Don’t be angry, don’t be angry, don’t glare at me... . 
You're not, though. You wonder why I am so open? Why, 


206 THE POSSESSED 


just because it’s all changed now ; of course, it’s over, buried under 
the sand. I’ve suddenly changed my ideas about you. The old 
way is closed ; now I shall never compromise you in the old way, 
it will be in a new way now.” 

“You've changed your tactics ?”’ 

* There are no tactics. Now it’s for you to decide in every- 
thing, that is, if you want to, say yes, and if you want to, say no. 
There you have my new tactics. And I won’t say a word about 
our cause till you bid me yourself. You laugh? Laugh away. 
I’m laughing myself. But I’m in earnest now, in earnest, in 
earnest, though a man who is in such a hurry is stupid, isn’t he ? 
Never mind, I may be stupid, but I’m in earnest, in earnest.” 

He really was speaking in earnest in quite a different tone, and 
with a peculiar excitement, so that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
looked at him with curiosity. 

‘“ You say you've changed your ideas aboyt me ? ”’ he asked. 

‘“‘ T changed my ideas about you at the moment when you drew 
your hands back after Shatov’s attack, and, that’s enough, that’s 
enough, no questions, please, I'll say nothing more now.” 

He jumped up, waving his hands as though waving off ques- 
tions. But as there were no questions, and he had no reason to 
go away, he sank into an arm-chair again, somewhat reassured. 

‘“‘ By the way, in parenthesis,’ he rattled on at once, “‘ some 
people here are babbling that you’ll kill him, and taking bets about 
it, so that Lembke positively thought of setting the police on, but 
Yulia Mihailovna forbade it. . . . But enough about that, quite 
enough, I only spoke of it to let you know. By the way, I moved 
the Lebyadkins the same day, you know; did you get my note 
with their address ? ”’ 

‘“ T received it at the time.” 

‘TI didn’t do that by way of ‘stupidity.’ I did it genuinely, 
to serve you. If it was stupid, anyway, it was done in good 
faith.” 

‘‘ Oh, all right, perhaps it was necessary. . . .” said Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch dreamily, “ only don’t write any more letters 
to me, I beg you.” 

‘“‘ [Impossible to avoid it. It was only one.” 

“So Liputin knows ? ”’ 

“Impossible to help it: but Liputin, you know yourself, 
dare not... By the way, you ought to meet our fellows, 
that is, the fellows not our fellows, or you'll be finding fault again. 
Don’t disturb yourself, not just now, but sometime. Just now 


NIGHT | 207 


it’s raining. I'll let them know, they’ll meet together, and we'll 
goin the evening. They’re waiting, with their mouths open like 
young crows in a nest, to see what present we’ve brought them. 
They’re a hot-headed lot. They’ve brought out leaflets, they’re on 
the point of quarrelling. Virginsky is a universal humanity man, 
Liputin is a Fourierist with a marked inclination for police work ; 
a man, I assure you, who is precious from one point of view, 
though he requires strict supervision in all others; and, last of 
all, that fellow with the long ears, he’ll read an account of his 
own system. And do you know, they’re offended at my treating 
them casually, and throwing cold water over them, but we 
certainly must meet.” 

‘“‘ You’ve made me out some sort of chief ?”’ Nikolay Vsyevo- 
_ lodovitch dropped as carelessly as possible. 

Pyotr Stepanovitch looked quickly at him. 

‘“‘ By the way,” he interposed, in haste to change the subject, 
as though he had not heard. “‘ I’ve been here two or three times, 
you know, to see her excellency, Varvara Petrovna, and I have 
been obliged to say a great deal too.” 

“So I imagine.” 

“No, don’t imagine, I’ve simply told her that you won’t kill 
him, well, and other sweet things. And only fancy; the very 
next day she knew ’d moved Marya Timofyevna beyond the 
river. Was it you told her ?”’ 

*‘T never dreamed of it !” 

“IT knewit wasn’t you. Whoelsecouldit be? It’s interesting.” 

** Liputin, of course.” 

** N-no, not Liputin,” muttered Pyotr Stepanovitch, frowning ; 
*T’ll find out who. It’s more like Shatov.... That’s non- 
sense though. Let’sleave that! Though it’s awfully important. 
... By the way, I kept expecting that your mother would 
suddenly burst out with the great question. ... Ach! yes, 
she was horribly glum at first, but suddenly, when I came to-day, 
she was beaming all over, what does that mean ?”’ 

“‘Tt’s because I promised her to-day that within five days 

Ill be engaged to Lizaveta Nikolaevna,” Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
- vitch said with surprising openness. 
“Oh!... Yes, of course,” faltered Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
- seeming disconcerted. “‘ There are rumours of her engagement, 
* you know. It’s true, too. But you’re right, she’d run from 
under the wedding crown, you’ve only to call to her. You’re 
not angry at my saying so?” | 


208 iia POSSESSED 


‘‘ No, I’m not angry.” | 

“T notice it’s awfully hard to make you angry to-day, and 
I begin to be afraid of you. I’m awfully curious to know how 
you'll appear to-morrow. I expect you’ve got a lot of things 
ready. You're not angry at my saying so ?”’ 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch made no answer at all, which com- 
pleted Pyotr Stepanovitch’s irritation. 

‘“‘ By the way, did you say that in earnest to your mother, 
about Lizaveta Nikolaevna ?’’ he asked. 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked coldly at him. 

‘“‘ Oh, I understand, it was only to soothe her, of course.”’ 

‘* And if it were in earnest ?’’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked 
firmly. 

i, Oh, God bless you then, as they say in such cases. It won't 
hinder the cause (you see, I don’t say ‘ our,’ you don’t like the 
word ‘our’) and I... well, 1... am at your service, as you 
know.’ 

“You think so ?”’ 

“TI think nothing—nothing,” Pyotr Stepanovitch hurriedly 
declared, laughing, “‘ because I know you consider what you’re 
about beforehand for yourself, and everything with you has 
been thought out. I only mean that I am seriously at your 
service, always and everywhere, and in every sort of circumstance, 
every sort really, do you understand that ?”’ 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch yawned. 

“Tve bored you,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch cried, jumping up 
suddenly, and snatching his perfectly new round hat as though 
he were going away. He remained and went on talking, however, 
though he stood up, sometimes pacing about the room and tapping 
himself on the knee with his hat at exciting parts of the conversa- 
tion. 

‘“T meant to amuse you with stories of the Lembkes, too,” 
he cried gaily. 

‘“‘ Afterwards, perhaps, not now. But how is Yulia Mihail 
ovna ?”’ 

‘What conventional manners all of you have! Her health’ 
is no more to you than the health of the grey cat, yet you ask 
after it. I approve of that. She’s quite well, and her respect 
for you amounts to a superstition, her immense anticipations of 
you amount to a superstition. She does not say a word about 
what happened on Sunday, and is convinced that you will over-. 
come everything yourself by merely making your appearance, 


NIGHT 209 


Upon my word! She fancies you can do anything. You're an 
enigmatic and romantic figure now, more than ever you were— 
an extremely advantageous position. It is incredible how 
eager every one is to see you. They were pretty hot when I 
went away, but now it is more so than ever. Thanks again 
for your letter. They are all afraid of Count K. Do youknow 
they look upon you as a spy? I keep that up, you’re not 
angry ?”’ 

“‘ It does not matter.” 

“Tt does not matter; it’s essential in the long run. They 
have their ways of doing things here. I encourage it, of course ; 
Yulia Mihailovna, in the first place, Gaganov too.... You 
laugh ? But you know I have my policy ; I babble away and 
suddenly I say something clever just as they are on the look-out 
for it. They crowd round me and I humbug away again. 
They ve all given me up in despair by now: ‘he’s got brains but 
he’s dropped from the moon.’ Lembke invites me to enter the 
service so that I may be reformed. You know I treat him 
shockingly, that is, I compromise him and he simply stares. 
Yulia Mihailovna encourages it. Oh, by the way, Gaganov is in 
anawiul rage with you. He said the nastiest things about you 
yesterday at Duhovo. I told him the whole truth on the spot, 
that is, of course, not the whole truth. I spent the whole day 
at Duhovo. It’s a splendid estate, a fine house.”’ 

“Then is he at Duhovo now?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
broke in suddenly, making a sudden start forward and almost 
leaping up from his seat. 

‘No, he drove me here this morning, we returned together,” 
said Pyotr Stepanovitch, appearing not to notice Stavrogin’s 
momentary excitement. ‘‘ What’s this? I dropped a book.” 

He bent down to pick up the “ keepsake ”’ he had knocked down. 
“<The Women of Balzac,’ with illustrations.” He opened it 
suddenly. ‘“‘I haven't read it. Lembke writes novels 
too.” 

‘Yes ?”’ queried Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, as though beginning 

_to be interested. 

“‘ In Russian, on the sly, of course, Yulia Mihailovna knows and 
allows it. He’s henpecked, but with good manners; it’s their | 
system. Such strict form—such self-restraint! Something of 
the sort would be the thing for us.” 

_ “You approve of government methods ? ” 

‘‘T should rather think so! It’s the one thing that’s natural 

O 


210 THE POSSESSED 


and ‘practicable in Russia.... I won't ...I won't,” he 
cried out suddenly, “I’m not referring to that—not a word on 
delicate subjects. Good-bye, though, you look rather green.”’ 

“Tm feverish.” 

‘I can well believe it; you should go to bed. By the way, 
there are Skoptsi here in the neighbourhood—they’re curious 
people . . . of that later, though. Ah, here’s another anecdote. 
There’s an infantry regiment here in the district. I was drinking 
last Friday evening with the officers. We've three friends among 
them, vous comprenez? They were discussing atheism and I 
need hardly say they made short work of God. They were 
squealing with delight. By the way, Shatov declares that if 
there’s to be a rising in Russia we must begin with atheism. 
Maybe it’s true. One grizzled old stager of a captain sat mum, 
not saying a word. All at once he stands up in the middle of the. 
room and says aloud, as though speaking to himself: ‘ If there’s 
no God, how can I be a captain then ?” He took up his cap and 
went out, flinging up his hands.” 

‘‘ He expressed a rather sensible idea,” said Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
dovitch, yawning for the third time. | 

“Yes ? I didn’t understand it; I meant to ask you aboutiit. 
Well what else have [ to tell you? TheShpigulinfactory’sinterest- 
ing ; as you know, there are five hundred workmen init, it’s a hotbed 
of cholera, it’s not been cleaned for fifteen years and the factory 
hands are swindled. The owners ‘are millionaires. I assure you 
that. some among the hands have an idea of the Internationale. 
What, you smile ? You'll see—only give me ever so little time ! 
I’ve asked you to fix the time already and now I ask you again 
and then. ... But 1 beg your pardon, I won’t, I won’t speak 
of that, don’t frown. There!” He turned back suddenly. 
‘““T quite forgot the chief thing. I was told just now that our 
box had come from Petersburg.” 

“Youmean...” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked at him, not 
understanding. 

“Your box, your things, coats, trousers, and linen have come. | 
Is it true ?” , 

“Yes ... they said something about it this morning.” 

““ Ach, then can’t I openitatonce! .. .” 

“ Ask Alexey.” 

“Well, to-morrow, then, will to-morrow do? Yousee my new 
jacket, dress-coat and three pairs of trousers are with your things, 
from Sharmer’s, by your recommendation, do you remember ?”’ — 


NIGHT 211 


“I hear you’re going in for being a gentleman here,” said 


Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch with a smile. “Is it true you're 
going to take lessons at the riding school ? ”’ 
Pyotr Stepanovitch smiled a wry smile. “I say,’ he said 


suddenly, with excessive haste in a voice that quivered and 
faltered, “I say, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, let’s drop person- 
alities once for all. Of course, you can despise me as much as 
you like if it amuses you—but we'd better dispense with person- 
alities for a time, hadn’t we ? ” 

“ All right,’’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch assented. 

Pyotr Stepanovitch grinned, tapped his knee with his hat, 
shifted from one leg to the other, and recovered his former 
expression. 

“Some people here positively look upon me as your rival 
with Lizaveta Nikolaevna, so I must think of my appear- 
ance, mustn’t I,” he laughed. ‘Who was it told you that 
though? H’m. It’s just eight o’clock; well I must be 
off. I promised to look in on Varvara Petrovna, but I shall 
make my escape. And you go to bed and you'll be stronger 
to-morrow. It’s raining and dark, but Ive a cab, it’s not 
over safe in the streets here at night. ... Ach, by the way, 
there’s a run-away convict from Siberia, Fedka, wandering 
about the town and the neighbourhood. Only fancy, he used 
to be a serf of mine, and my papa sent him for a soldier 
fifteen years ago and took the money for him. He’s a very 
remarkable person.” 

‘** You have been erst to him?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
scanned him. 

‘““[ have. He lets me know where he is. He’s ready for 
anything, anything, for money of course, but he has convictions, 
too, of a sort, of course. Oh yes, by the way, again, if you meant 
anything of that plan, you remember, about Lizaveta Nikolaevna, 
I tell you once again, [ too am a fellow ready for anything of any 
kind you like, and absolutely at your service. ... Hullo! are 
you reaching for your stick. Oh no... only fancy ...I 
thought you were looking for your stick.”’ 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was looking for nothing and said. 
nothing: 

But he had risen to his feet very suddenly with a strange look 

in his face. 

“Tf you want any help about Mr. Gaganov either,’ Pyotr 
Stepanovitch blurted out suddenly, this time looking straight at. 


212 THE POSSESSED 


the paper-weight, “ of course I can arrange it all, and ’m certain 
you won't be able to manage without me.” 

He went out suddenly without waiting for an answer, but 
thrust his head in at the door once more. ‘‘ I mention that,’’ he 
gabbled hurriedly, “‘ because Shatov had no right either, you 
know, to risk his life last Sunday when he attacked you, had he ? 
I should be glad if you would make a note of that.” He dis- 
appeared again without waiting for an answer. 


IV 


Perhaps he imagined, as he made his exit, that as soon as he was 
left alone, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch would begin beating on the 
wall with his fists, and no doubt he would have been glad to see 
this, if that had been possible. But,ifso, he was greatly mistaken. 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was still calm. He remained standing 
for two minutes in the same position by the table, apparently 
plunged in thought, but soon a cold and listless smile came on to 
his lips. He slowly sat down again in the same place in the 
corner of the sofa, and shut his eyes as though from weariness. 
The corner of the letter was still peeping from under the paper- 
weight, but he didn’t even move to cover it. 

He soon sank into complete forgetfulness. 

When Pyotr Stepanovitch went out without coming to see 
her, as he had promised, Varvara Petrovna, who had been worn 
out by anxiety during these days, could not control herself, 
and ventured to visit her son herself, though it was not her 
regular time. She was still haunted by the idea that he would 
tell her something conclusive. She knocked at the door gently as 
before, and again receiving no answer, she opened the door, 
Seeing that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was sitting strangely 
motionless, she cautiously advanced to the sofa with a throbbing 
heart. She seemed struck by the fact that he could fall asleep 
so quickly and that he could sleep sitting like that, so erect and 
motionless, so that his breathing even was scarcely perceptible. 
His face was pale and forbidding, but it looked, as it were, numb 
and rigid. His brows were somewhat contracted and frowning. 
He positively had the look of a lifeless wax figure. She stood 
over him for about three minutes, almost holding her breath, and 


suddenly she was seized with terror. She withdrew on tiptoe, 








NIGHT 213 


stopped at the door, hurriedly made the sign of the cross over 
him, and retreated unobserved, with a new oppression and a new 
anguish at her heart. 

He slept a long while, more than an hour, and still in the same 
rigid pose : not a muscle of his face twitched, there was not the 
faintest movement in his whole body, and his brows were still 
contracted in the same forbidding frown. If Varvara Petrovna 
had remained another three minutes she could not have endured 
the stifling sensation that this motionless lethargy roused in her, 
and would have waked him. But he suddenly opened his eyes, 
and sat for ten minutes as immovable as before, staring per- 
sistently and curiously, as though at some object in the corner 
which had struck him, although there was nothing new or 
striking in the room. 

Suddenly there rang out the low deep note of the clock on the 
wall. 

With some uneasiness he turned to look at it, but almost at the 
same moment the other door opened, and the butler, Alexey 
Yegorytch came in. He had in one hand a greatcoat, a scarf, 
and a hat, and in the other a silver tray with a note on it. 

*“‘ Half-past nine,’ he announced softly, and laying the other 
things on a chair, he held out the tray with the note—a scrap of 
paper unsealed and scribbled in pencil. Glancing through it, 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch took a pencil from the table, added 
a few words, and put the note back on the tray. 

“Take it back as soon as I have gone out, and now dress me,”’ 
he said, getting up from the sofa. 

Noticing that he had on a light velvet jacket, he thought a 
minute, and told the man to bring him a cloth coat, which he wore 
on more ceremonious occasions. At last, when he was dressed 
and had put on his hat, he locked the door by which his mother 
had come into the room, took the letter from under the paper- 
weight, and without saying a word went out into the corridor, 
followed by Alexey Yegorytch. From the corridor they went 
down the narrow stone steps of the back stairs to a passage 
which opened straight into the garden. In the corner stood 
a lantern and a big umbrella. 

‘“‘ Owing to the excessive rain the mud in the streets is beyond 
anything,” Alexey Yegorytch announced, making a final effort 
to deter his master from the expedition. But opening his um- 
brella the latter went without a word into the damp and sodden 
garden, which was dark as a cellar. The wind was roaring and 


214 THE POSSESSED 


tossing the bare tree-tops. The little sandy paths were wet 
and slippery. Alexey Yegoryvitch walked along as he was, 
bareheaded, in his swallow-tail coat, lighting up the path for 
about three steps before them with the lantern. 

“Won't it be noticed ?’’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked 
suddenly. 

“Not from the windows. Besides I have seen to all that 
already,”’ the old servant answered in quiet and measured tones. 

‘“‘ Has my mother retired ?”’ 

“‘ Her excellency locked herself in at nine o’clock as she has 
done the last few days, and there is no possibility of her knowing 
anything. At what hour am I to expect your honour ?”’ 

‘* At one or half-past, not later than two.” 

oes) sir.” 

Crossing the garden by the winding paths that they both 
knew by heart, they reached the stone wall, and there in the 
farthest corner found a little door, which led out into a narrow 
and deserted lane, and was always kept locked. It appeared 
that Alexey Yegorytch had the key in his hand. 

‘“‘ Won’t the door creak ?”’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch inquired 
again. , 

But Alexey Yegorytch informed him that it had been oiled 
yesterday ‘‘ as well as to-day.” He was by now wet through. 
Unlocking the door he gave the key to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. 

“Tf it should be your pleasure to be taking a distant walk, I 
would warn your honour that I am not confident of the folk here, 
especially in the back lanes, and especially beyond the river,’”’ he - 
could not resist warning him again. He was an old servant, 
who had been like a nurse to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, and at 
one time used to dandle him in his arms; he was a grave and 
severe man who was fond of listening to religious discourse 
and reading books of devotion. 

“Don’t be uneasy, Alexey Yegorytch.”’ 

“* May God’s blessing rest on you, sir, but only in your righteous 
undertakings.” 

“What?” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, stopping short in 
the lane. | 

Alexey Yegorytch resolutely repeated his words. He had 
never before ventured to express himself in such language in his 
master’s presence. 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch locked the door, put the key in his 
pocket, and crossed the lane, sinking five or six inches into the 


NIGHT 215 


mud at every step. He came out at last into a long deserted 
street. He knew the town like the five fingers of his hand, but 
Bogoyavlensky Street was a long way off. It was past ten 
when he stopped at last before the locked gates of the dark 
old house that belonged to Filipov. The ground floor had 
stood empty since the Lebyadkins had left it, and the windows 
were boarded up, but there was a light burning in Shatov’s room 
on the second floor. As there was no bell he began banging on 
the gate with hishand. A window was opened and Shatov peeped 
out into the street. It was terribly dark, and difficult to make 
out anything. Shatov was peering out for some time, about a 
minute. 

“Is that you ?”’ he asked suddenly. 

“Yes,” replied the uninvited guest. 

Shatov slammed the window, went downstairs and opened 
the gate. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch stepped over the high sill, 
and without a word passed by him straight into Kirillov’s lodge. 


V 


There everything was unlocked and all the doors stood open. 
The passage and the first two rooms were dark, but there was a 
light shining in the last, in which Kirillov lived and drank tea, 
and laughter and strange cries came from it. Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch went towards the light, but stood still in the 
doorway without going in. There was tea on the table. In the 
middle of the room stood the old woman who was a relation of the 
landlord. She was bareheaded and was dressed in a petticoat and 
a hare-skin jacket, and her stockingless feet were thrust into 
slippers. In her arms she had an eighteen-months-old baby, 
with nothing on but its little shirt ; with bare legs, flushed cheeks, 
and ruffled white hair. It had only just been taken out of the 
cradle. It seemed to have just been crying ; there were still 
tears in its eyes. But at that instant it. was stretching out its 
little arms, clapping its hands, and laughing with a sob as little 
children do. Kirillov was bouncing a big red india-rubber ball 
on the floor before it. The ball bounced up to the ceiling, and 
back to the floor, the baby shrieked ‘“‘Baw! baw!” Kirillov 
caught the “‘ baw” and gave it to it. The baby threw it itself 
with its awkward Jittle hands, and Kirillov ran to pick it up again, 


216 THE POSSESSED 


At last the ‘‘ baw ” rolled under the cupboard. “ Baw! baw!”’ 
cried the child. Kirillov lay down on the floor, trying to reach 
the ball with his hand under the cupboard. Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
dovitch went into the room. The baby caught sight of him, 
nestled against the old woman, and went off into a prolonged 
infantile wail. The woman immediately carried it out of the 
room. 

‘“‘ Stavrogin ?”’ said Kirillov, beginning to get up from the 
floor with the ball in his hand, and showing no surprise at the 
unexpected visit. ‘‘ Will you have tea ?” 

He rose to his feet. 

‘“‘T should be very glad of it, if it’s hot,” said Nikolay Vsyevo- 
lodovitch ; ‘‘ I’m wet through.” 

‘“‘Tt’s hot, nearly boiling in fact,” Kirillov declared delighted. 
“Sit down. You’re muddy, but that’s nothing ; [ll mop up the 
floor later.”’ 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sat down and emptied the cup he 
handed him almost at a gulp. 

‘Some more ?”’ asked Kirillov. 

** No, thank you.” 

Kirillov, who had not sat down till then, seated himself facing 
him, and inquired : | 

“Why have you come ?” ; 

** On business. Here, read this letter from Gaganov ; do you 
remember, I talked to you about him in Petersburg.” 

Kirillov took the letter, read it, laid it on the table and looked 
at him expectantly. 

‘* As you know, I met this Gaganov for the first time in my life 
a month ago, in Petersburg,’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch began 
to explain. ‘We came across each other two or three times 
in company with other people. Without making my acquaint- 
ance and without addressing me, he managed to be very insolent 
to me. I told you so at the time; but now for something you 
don’t know. As he was leaving Petersburg before I did, he sent 
me a letter, not like this one, yet impertinent in the highest degree, 
and what was queer about it was that it contained no sort of 
explanation of why it was written. I answered him at once, also 
by letter, and said, quite frankly, that he was probably angry with 
me on account of the incident with his father four years ago in the 
club here, and that I for my part was prepared to make him every 
possible apology, seeing that my action was unintentional and was 
the result of illness. I begged him to consider and accept my 


NIGHT 217 


apologies. He went away without answering, and now here I find 
him in aregularfury. Several things he has said about me in public 
have been repeated to me, absolutely abusive, and making as- 
tounding charges against me. Finally, to-day, I get this letter, 
a letter such as no one has ever had before, I should think, con- 
taining such expressions as “ the punch you got in your ugly face.’ 
I came in the hope that you would not refuse to be my second.” 

“You said no one has ever had such a letter,’ observed 
Kirillov, “ they may be sent in a rage. Such letters have been 
written more than once. Pushkin wrote to Hekern. All right, 
Vllcome. ‘Tell me how.” 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch explained that he wanted it to be 
to-morrow, and that he must begin by renewing his offers of 
apology, and even with the promise of another letter of apology, 
but on condition that Gaganov, on his side, should promise to send 
no more letters. The letter he had received he would regard as 
unwritten. 

‘Too much concession ; he won’t agree,” said Kirillov. 

““T’ve come first of all to find out whether you would consent 
to be the bearer of such terms.”’ 

“T’litake them. It’s your affair. But he won’t agree.”’ 

*“*T know he won’t agree.”’ 

“He wants to fight. Say how you'll fight.” 

“The point is that I want the thing settled to-morrow. By 
nine o’ciock in the morning you must be at his house. He'll 
listen, and won’t agree, but will put you in communication with 
his second—let us say about eleven. You will arrange things 
with him, and let us all be on the spot by one or two o'clock. 
Please try to arrange that. The weapons, of course, will be 
pistols. And I particularly beg you to arrange to fix the barriers 
at ten paces apart ; then you put each of us ten paces from the 
barrier, and at a given signal we approach. Each must go right 
up to his barrier, but you may fire before, on the way. I believe 
that’s all.” 

‘Ten paces between the barriers is very near,’ observed 
Kirillov. 

‘“‘ Well, twelve then, but not more. You understand that he 
wants to fight in earnest. Do you know how to load a pistol?” 

“Tdo. I’ve got pistols. Dll give my word that you’ve never 
fired them. His second will give his word about his. There’ll 
be two pairs of pistols, and we'll toss up, his or ours 2?” 

“* Excellent.”’ 


218 THE POSSESSED 


‘Would you like to look at the pistols ? ” 

‘““ Very well.” 

Kirillov squatted on his heels before the trunk in the corner, 
which he had never yet unpacked, though things had been pulled 
out of it as required. He pulled out from the bottom a palm- 
wood box lined with red velvet, and from it took out a pair of 
smart and very expensive pistols. 

“[Tve got everything, powder, bullets, cartridges. I’ve 
a revolver besides, wait.”’ 

He stooped down to the trunk again and took out a six- 
chambered American revolver. 

‘‘ 'You’ve got weapons enough, and very good ones.” 

“‘ Very, extremely.” 

Kirillov, who was poor, almost destitute, though he never 
noticed his poverty, was evidently proud of showing his 
precious weapons, which he had certainly obtained with great 
sacrifice. 

‘* You still have the same intentions ?”’ Stavrogin asked after 
a moment's silence, and with a certain wariness. 

“Yes,” answered Kirillov shortly, guessing at once from his 
voice what he was asking about, and he began taking the weapons 
from the table. 

“When?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch inquired still more 
cautiously, after a pause. 

In the meantime Kirillov had put both the boxes back in his 
trunk, and sat down in his place again. 

‘That doesn’t depend on me, as you know—when they tell 
me,’ he muttered, as though disliking the question; but at the 
same time with evident readiness to answer any other question. 
He kept his black, lustreless eyes fixed continually on Stavrogin 
with a calm but warm and kindly expression in them. 

‘“‘T understand shooting oneself, of course,’ Nikolay Vsyevo- 
lodovitch began suddenly, frowning a little, after a dreamy 
silence that lasted three minutes. “‘I sometimes have thought 
of it myself, and then there always came a new idea: if one did 
something wicked, or, worse still, something shameful, that is, 
disgraceful, only very shameful and... ridiculous, such as 
people would remember for a thousand years and hold in scorn 
for a thousand years, and suddenly the thought comes: ‘ one 
blow in the temple and there would be nothing more.’ One 
wouldn’t care then for men and that they would hold one in scorn 
for a thousand years, would one ? ” 


NIGHT 219 


“© You call that a new idea ?”’ said Kirillov, after a moment’s 
thought. 

“tT... didn’t call it so, but when I thought it I felt it as 
a new idea.” 

“You ‘felt the idea’ ?” observed Kirillov. ‘‘ That’s good. 
There are lots of ideas that are always there and yet suddenly 
become new. That’s true. I see a great deal now as though it 
were for the first time.” 

*‘ Suppose you had lived in the moon,” Stavrogin interrupted, 
not listening, but pursuing his own thought, ‘‘ and suppose there 
you had done all these nasty and ridiculous things. ... You 
know from here for certain that they will laugh at you and hold 
you in scorn for a thousand years as long as the moon lasts. But 
now you are here, and looking at the moon from here. You don’t 
care here for anything you ve done there, and that the people there 
will hold you in scorn for a thousand years, do you ?”’ 

“I don’t know,” answered Kirillov. ‘‘ I’ve not been in the 
moon,” he added, without any irony, simply to state the fact. 

*‘ Whose baby was that just now ?” 

_ “The old woman’s mother-in-law was here—no, daughter-in- 
law, it’s allthe same. Threedays. She’s lying ill with the baby, 
it cries a lot at night, it’s the stomach. The mother sleeps, but 
the old woman picks it up; I play ball with it. The ball’s 
from Hamburg. I bought it in Hamburg to throw it and catch 
it, it strengthens the spine. It’s a girl.” P 

** Are you fond of children ? ”’ 

“Tam,” answered Kirillov, though rather indifferently. 

** Then you're fond of life 2?” 

“Yes, I’m fond of life! What of it 2?” 

“Though you’ve made up your mind to shoot yourself.” 

“What of it? Why connect it? Life’s one thing and that’s 
another. Life exists, but death doesn’t at all.” 

“‘ You’ve begun to believe in a future eternal life ? ”’ 

*“No, not in a future eternal life, but in eternal life here. 
There are moments, you reach moments, and time suddenly 
stands still, and it will become eternal.” 

‘You hope to reach such a moment ? ” 

“ce Yes.”’ . 

‘“‘ That’ll scarcely be possible in our time,’’ Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
dovitch responded slowly and, as it were, dreamily ; the two spoke 
without the slightest irony. “In the Apocalypse the angel 
swears that there will be no more time.”’ 


220 THE POSSESSED 


‘‘T know. That’s very true; distinct and exact. When all 
mankind attains happiness then there will be no more time, for 
there’ll be no need of it, a very true thought.” | 

‘“‘ Where will they put it ?”’ 

‘‘ Nowhere. Time’s not an object but an idea. It will be 
extinguished in the mind.” 

“The old commonplaces of philosophy, the same from the 
beginning of time,’ Stavrogin muttered with a kind of disdainful 
compassion. 

‘‘ Always the same, always the same, from the beginning of 
time and never any other,” Kirillov-said with sparkling eyes, as 
though there were almost a triumph in that idea. 

‘* You seem to be very happy, Kirillov.” 

‘“‘ Yes, very happy,’ he answered, as though making the most 
ordinary reply. | 

‘‘ But you were distressed so lately, angry with Liputin.” 

“H’m ... I’m not scolding now. Ididn’t know then that I 
was happy. Have you seen a leaf, a leaf from a tree ? ”’ 

c¢ Yes.”’ 

‘“‘T saw a yellow one lately, a little green. It was decayed at 
the edges. It was blown by the wind. When I was ten years old 
I used to shut my eyes in the winter on purpose and fancy a 
green leaf, bright, with veins on it, and the sun shining. I used to 
open my eyes and not believe them, because it was very nice, 
and I used to shut them again.” 

‘“‘ What’s that ? An allegory ?”’ 

“N-no ... why? Dm not speaking of an allegory, but of 
a leaf, only a leaf. The leaf is good. EKverything’s good.” 

‘“ Everything 2?” 

‘Everything. Man is unhappy because he doesn’t know he’s 
happy. It’sonlythat. That’sall, that’sall! Ifanyone finds out 
he’ll become happy at once, that minute. That mother-in-law will 
die ; but the baby willremain. It’s all good. I discovered it all 
of a sudden.” 

‘And if anyone dies of hunger, and if anyone insults and 
outrages the little girl, is that good ? ” 

“Yes! And if anyone blows his brains out for the baby, that’s 
good too. Andif anyone doesn’t, that’s good too. It’sall good, 
all. It’s good for all those who know that it’s all good. If they 
knew that it was good for them, it would be good for them, but 
as long as they don’t know it’s good for them, it will be bad for 
them. That’s the whole idea, the whole of it.”’ 


NIGHT 221 


“* When did you find out you were so happy ?”’ 

“ Last week, on Tuesday, no, Wednesday, for it was Wednesday 
by that time, in the night.” 

““ By what reasoning ? ” 

“I don’t remember; I was walking about the room; never 
mind. I stopped my clock. It was thirty-seven minutes past 
two.” 

** As an emblem of the fact that there will be no more time ? ” 

Kirillov was silent. 

‘““'They’re bad because they don’t know they’re good. When 
they find out, they won’t outrage a little girl. They’ll find out 
that they’re good and they'll all become good, every one of 
them.” 

“Here you've found it out, so have you become good 
_ then ?” 

“Tam good.” 

“ That I agree with, though,” Stavrogin muttered, frowning. 

‘* He who teaches that all are good will end the world.”’ 

*“ He who taught it was crucified.” 

“* He will come, and his name will be the man-god.” 

“The god-man ? ”’ 

“The man-god. That's the difference.” 

* Surely it wasn’t you lighted the lamp under the ikon ?”’ 

** Yes, it was I lighted it.” 

** Did you do it believing ?”’ 

“The old woman likes to have the lamp and she hadn’t 
time to do it to-day,” muttered Kirillov. 

‘“* You don’t say prayers yourself ? ”’ 

“IT pray to everything. You see the spider crawling on the 
wall, I look at it and thank it for crawling.” 

His eyes glowed again. He kept looking straight at Stavrogin 
with firm and unflinching expression. Stavrogin frowned and 
watched him disdainfully, but there was no mockery in his 
eyes. 

ve I’ll bet that when I come next time you'll be believing in 
God too,” he said, getting up and taking his hat. 

“Why ?”’ said Kirillov, getting up too. 

‘Tf you were to find out that you believe in God, then you’d 
believe in Him; but since you don’t know that you believe in 
Him, then you don’t believe in Him,” laughed Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
dovitch. 

“‘That’s not right,” Kirillov pondered “ you’ve distorted the 


222 THE POSSESSED 


idea. It’s a flippant joke. Remember what you have meant 
in my life, Stavrogin.”’ : 

‘“‘ Good-bye, Kirillov.” 

** Come at night ; when will you ?” 

“* Why, haven’t you forgotten about to-morrow ?”’ 

‘‘ Ach, I'd forgotten. Don’t be uneasy. I won't oversleep. 
At nine o’clock. I know how to wake up when I want to. 
I go to bed saying ‘ seven o’clock,’ and I wake up at seven o’clock, 
‘ten o'clock,’ and I wake up at ten o’clock.” 

‘** You have remarkable powers,’ said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, 
looking at his pale face. 

‘* T'll come and open the gate,” 

** Don’t trouble, Shatov will open it for me.” 

** Ah, Shatov. Very well, good-bye.” 


VI 


The door of the empty house in which Shatov was lodging was 
not closed; but, making his way into the passage, Stavrogin 
found himself in utter darkness, and began feeling with his hand 
for the stairs to the upper story. Suddenly a door opened 
upstairs anda light appeared. Shatov did not come out himself, 
but simply opened his door. When Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
was standing in the doorway of the room, he saw Shatov spams 
at the table i in the corner, waiting expectantly. 

“Will you receive me on business ?”’ he queried from the 
doorway. 

‘Come in and sit down,”’ answered Shatov. ‘‘ Shut the door; 
stay, I'll shut it.” 

He locked the door, returned to the table, and sat down, facing 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. He had grown thinner during that 
week, and now he seemed in a fever. 

‘““You’ve been worrying me to death,” he said, looking down, 
in a soit half-whisper. ‘‘ Why didn’t you come ? ” 

‘‘ You were so sure I should come then ? ”’ 

“Yes, stay, I have been delirious . . . perhaps I’m delirious 
now. ... Stay a moment.” 

He got up and seized something that was lying on the upper- 
most of his three bookshelves. It was a revolver. 

‘ One night, in delirium, I fancied that you were coming to kill 


NIGHT 223, 


me, and early next morning I spent my last farthing on buying 
a revolver from that good-for-nothing fellow Lyamshin; I did 
not mean to let you do it. Then I came to myself again . . 
I’ve neither powder nor shot ; it has been lying there on the shelf 
tillnow ; waita minute. ...” 

He got up and was opening the casement. 

‘‘ Don’t throw it away, why should you ?”’ Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
dovitch checked him. “It’s worth something. Besides, to- 
morrow people will begin saying that there are revolvers lying 
about under Shatov’s window. Put it back, that’s right; sit 
down. Tell me, why do you seem to be penitent for having 
thought I should come to kill you? I have not come now to be 
reconciled, but to talk of something necessary. Enlighten me 
to begin with. You didn’t give me that blow because of my 
connection with your wife ?”’ 

“You know I didn’t, yourself,” said Shatov, looking down 
again. 

** And not because you believed the stupid gossip about Darya 
Pavlovna ?”’ 

“No, no, of course not! It’s nonsense! My sister told me 

from the very first . . . ’’ Shatov said, harshly and impatiently, 
and even with a slight stamp of his foot. 
“Then I guessed right and you too guessed right,” Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch went on in a tranquil voice. “* You are right. 
Marya Timofyevna Lebyadkin is my lawful wife, married to me 
four and a half years ago in Petersburg. I suppose the blow was 
on her account ?” 

Shatov, utterly astounded, listened in silence. 

“TI guessed, but did not believe it,” he muttered at last, 
looking strangely at Stavrogin. 

‘“‘ And you struck me ?”’ 

Shatov flushed and muttered almost incoherently : 

‘“‘ Because of your fall . . . your lie. I didn’t go up to you 
to punish you . . . I didn’t know when I went up to you that 
I should strike you . . . I did it because you meant so much to 
meinmylife...I...” 

‘J understand, I understand, spare your words. I am sorry 
you are feverish. I’ve come about a most urgent matter.” 

‘“‘T have been expecting you too long.” Shatov seemed to be 
quivering all over, and he got up from his seat. ‘‘ Say what you 
have to say ... [ll speak too .. . later.” 

He sat down. 


224 THE POSSESSED 


‘“What I have come about is nothing of that kind,” began 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, scrutinising him with curiosity. 
““ Owing to certain circumstances I was forced this very day to 
choose such an hour to come and tell you that they may murder 
you.” 

Shatov looked wildly at him. 

‘“‘T know that I may be in some danger,” he said in measured 
tones, “‘ but how can you have come to know of it ?” 

‘‘ Because I belong to them as you do, and am a member of 
their society, just as you are.” 

“You ... you are a member of the society ? ”’ 

“IT see from your eyes that you were prepared for anything 
from me rather than that,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, with 
a faint smile. ‘“‘ But, excuse me, you knew then that there 
would be an attempt on your life ?” 

‘‘ Nothing of the sort. And I don’t think so now, in spite of 
your words, though . . . though there’s no being sure of anything 
with these fools!” he cried suddenly in a fury, striking the 
table with his fist. ‘‘ I?m not afraid of them! I’ve broken with 
them. That fellow’s run here four times to tell me it was 
possible .. . but’’—he looked at Stavrogin—‘‘ what do you 
know about it, exactly ?”’ : 

‘Don’t be uneasy ; I am not deceiving you,’ Nikolay Vsyevo- 
lodovitch went on, rather coldly, with the air of a man who is 
only fulfilling a duty. ‘‘ You question me as to what I know. 
I know that you entered that society abroad, two years ago, 
at the time of the old organisation, just before you went to 
America, and I believe, just after our last conversation, about 
which you wrote so much to me in your letter from America, 
By the way, I must apologise for not having answered you by 
letter, but confined myselfto ... ” 

“To sending the money; wait a bit,’ Shatov interrupted, 
hurriedly pulling out a drawer in the table and taking from 
under some papers a rainbow-coloured note. ‘‘ Here, take it, 
the hundred roubles you sent me; but for you I should have 
perished out there. I should have been a long time paying it back 
if it had not been for your mother. She made me a present of 
that note nine months ago, because I was so badly off after my 
illness. But, go on, please... .” 

He was breathless. 

“In America you changed your views, and when you came 
back you wanted to resign. They gave you no answer, but 


“NIGHT 225 
charged you to take over a printing press here in Russia from 
some one, and to keep it till you handed it over to some one who 
would come from them for it. I don’t know the details exactly, 
but I fancy that’s the position in outline. You undertook it. in 
the hope, or on the condition, that it would be the last task they 
would require of you, and that then they would release you 
altogether. Whether that is so or not, I learnt it, not from them, 
but quite by chance. But now for what I fancy you don’t know ; 
these gentry have no intention of parting with you.” 

“'That’s absurd!” cried Shatov. “Ive told them honestly 
that I’ve cut myself off from them in everything. That is my 
right, the right to freedom of conscience and of thought. . . . I 
won't put up with it! There’s no power which could .. .” 

“I say, don’t shout,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch said earnestly, 
checking him. “‘ That Verhovensky is such a fellow that he may 
_ be listening to us now in your passage, perhaps, with his own ears 
or some one else’s. Even that drunkard, Lebyadkin, was prob- 
ably bound to keep an eye on you, and you on him, too, I dare 
say ? You'd better tell me, has Verhovensky accepted your 
arguments now, or not ?”’ 

“He has. He has said that it can be done and that I have the 
fight: "{, 2.” 

*“* Well then, he’s deceiving you. I know that even Kirillov, 
who scarcely belongs to them at all, has given them information 
about you. And they have lots of agents, even people who don’t 
know that they’re serving the society. They’ve always kept 
a watch on you. One of the things Pyotr Verhovensky came 
here for was to settle your business once for all, and he is 
fully authorised to do so, that is at the first good opportunity, 
to get rid of you, as a man who knows too much and might give 
them away. I repeat that this is certain, and allow me to add 
- that they are, for some reason, convinced that you are a spy, 
and that if you haven’t informed against them yet, you will. Is 
that true ?”’ 

Shatov made a wry face at hearing such a question asked in 
such a matter-of fact tone. 

“Tf I were a spy, whom could I inform ?”’ he said angrily, 
not giving a direct answer. ‘No, leave me alone, let me go to 
the devil!’ he cried suddenly, catching again at his original idea, 
which agitated him violently. Apparently it affected him more 
deeply than the news of his own danger. ‘‘ You, you, Stavrogin, 
how could you mix yourself up with such shameful, stupid, 

P 


226 THE POSSESSED 


second-hand absurdity ? You a member of the society ? What 
an exploit for Stavrogin !’’ he cried suddenly, in despair. 

He clasped his hands, as though nothing could be a bitterer 
and more inconsolable grief to him than such a discovery. 

‘“‘ Excuse me,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, extremely sur- 
prised, ‘‘ but you seem to look upon me as a sort of sun, and on 
yourself as an insect in comparison. I noticed that even from 
your letter in America.” 


“You... you know. ... Oh, let us drop me altogether,” 
Shatov broke off.suddenly, “‘ and if you can explain anything 
about yourself explain it. ... Answer my question!’ he 
repeated feverishly. 


“With pleasure. You ask how I could get into such a den ? 
After what I have told you, I’m bound to be frank with you to 
some extent on the subject. You see, strictly speaking, I don’t 
belong to the society at all, and I never have belonged to it, and 
I’ve much more right than you to leave them, because I never 
joined them. In fact, from the very beginning I told them that 
I was not one of them, and that if Pve happened to help them it 
has simply been by accident as a man of leisure. I took some 
part in reorganising the society, on the new plan, but that was all. 
But now they've changed their views, and have made up their 
minds that it would be dangerous to let me go, and I believe I’m 
sentenced to death too.” 

“Oh, they do nothing but sentence to death, and all by 
means of sealed documents, signed by three men anda half. And 
you think they’ve any power !” “tt 

“You're partly right there and partly not,’ Stavrogin 
answered with the same _ indifference, almo:;t _ listlessness. 
‘‘ There’s no doubt that there’s a great deal that’s fanciful about 
it, as there always is in such cases: a handful magnifies its size 
and significance. To my thinking, if you will have it, the only one 
is Pyotr Verhovensky, and it’s simply good-nature on his part to 
consider himself only an agent of the society. But the funda- 
mental idea is no stupider than others of the sort. They are 
connected with the Internationale. They have succeeded in 
establishing agents in Russia, they have even hit on a rather 
original method, though it’s only theoretical, of course. As for 
their intentions here, the movements of our Russian organisation 
are something so obscure and almost always unexpected that 
really, they might try anything among us. Note that Verhovensky 
is, an, obstinate man.’ 


F 


NIGHT 227 


“He's a bug, an ignoramus, a buffoon, who understands 
nothing in Russia! ’’ cried Shatov spitefully. 

“You know him very little. It’s quite true that none of them 
madertand much about Russia, but not much less than you and 
Ido. Besides, Verhovensky is an enthusiast.”’ 

“* Verhovensky an enthusiast ? ”’ 

“Oh, yes. There is a point when he ceases to be a buffoon 
and becomes a madman. I beg you to remember your own 
_ expression: ‘ Do you know how powerful a single man may be ?’ 
Please don’t laugh about it, he’s quite capable of pulling a 
trigger. They are convinced that lamaspy too. As they don’t 
know how to do things themselves, they’re awfully fond of 
accusing people of being spies.” 

‘* But you’re not afraid, are you ?”’ 

“N-no. I’m not very much afraid. ... But your case is 
quite different. I warned you that you might anyway keep 
it in mind. To my thinking there’s no reason to be offended 
in being threatened with danger by fools; their brains don’t 
affect the question. They’ve raised their hand against better 
men than you or me. It’s a quarter past eleven, though.” He 
looked at his watch and got up from his chair. ‘I wanted to ask 
you one quite irrelevant question.”’ 

‘“‘ For God’s sake |.’ cried Shatov, rising impulsively from his 
seat. 

“T beg your pardon ?”’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked at him 
inquiringly. 

‘* Ask it, ask your question for God’s sake,”’ Shatov repeated in 
indescribable excitement, ‘“‘ but. on condition that I ask you a 
question too. I beseech you to allow me ...Ican’t... ask 
your question !”’ 

Stavrogin waited a moment and then began. 

“T’ve heard that you have some influence on Marya ‘Timo- 
fyevna, and that she was fond of seeing you and hearing you talk, 
Is that so ?”’ 

“Yes ... . she used to listen . . .”’ said Shatov, confused. 

‘«¢ Within a day or two I intend to make a public announcement 
_ of our marriage here in the town.” 

‘Is that possible ?”’ Shatov whispered, almost with horror. | 

“‘T don’t quite understand you. There’s no sort of difficulty 
about it, witnesses to the marriage are here. Everything took 
place in Petersburg, perfectly legally and smoothly, and if it has 
not been made known till now, it is simply because the witnesses, 


228 THE POSSESSED 


Kirillov, Pyotr Verhovensky, and Lebyadkin (whom I now have 
the pleasure of claiming as a brother-in-law) promised to hold 
their tongues.” | 

‘““T don’t mean that . . . Youspeaksocalmly .. . but goon! 
Listen! You weren’t forced into that marriage, were you ?” 

‘No, no one forced me into it.” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
smiled at Shatov’s importunate haste. 

** And what’s that talk she keeps up about her baby ?”’ Shatov 
interposed disconnectedly, with feverish haste. 

““ She talks about her baby ? Bah! I didn’t know. It’s the 
first time I’ve heard of it. She never had a baby and couldn’t 
have had : Marya Timofyevna is a virgin.” 

“Ah! That’s just what I thought! Listen!” 

‘‘ What’s the matter with you, Shatov ?” 

Shatov hid his face in his hands, turned away, but suddenly 
clutched Stavrogin by the shoulders. 

“Do you know why, do you know why, anyway,” he shouted, 
“why you did all this, and why you are resolved on such a 
punishment now !” 

‘* Your question is clever and malignant, but I mean to surprise 
you too; I fancy I do know why I got married then, and why I 
am resolved on such a punishment now, as you express it.” 


** Let’s leave that .. . of that later. Put it off. Let’s talk 
of the chief thing, the chief thing. I’ve been waiting two years 
for you.” 

¢ Yes 2 9? 

“Tve waited too long for you. I’ve been thinking of you 
incessantly. You are the only man who could move... I 


wrote to you about it from America.” 

‘I remember your long letter very well.’ 

“Too long to be read? No doubt; six sheets of notepaper. 
Don’t speak! Don’tspeak! Tell me, can you spare me another 
ten minutes? . . . But now, this minute . . . I have waited for 
you too long.” 

“ Certainly, half an hour if you like, but not more, if that will 
suit you.” 

“And on condition, too,’ Shatov put in wrathfully, “ that 
you take a different tone. Do you hear? I demand when I ought 
to entreat. Do you understand what it means to demand when 
one ought to entreat ?” 

“T understand that in that way you lift yourself above all 
ordinary considerations for the sake of loftier aims,”’ said Nikolay 


NIGHT 229 


Vsyevolodovitch with a faint smile. “I see with regret, too, 
that you're feverish.” 

“I beg you to treat me with respect, I insist on it!” shouted 
Shatov, “not my personality—TI don’t care a hang for that, but 
something else, just for this once. While I am talking . .. we 
are two beings, and have come together in infinity . . . for the 
last time in the world. Drop your tone, and speak like a human 
being! Speak, if only for once in your life with the voice of a 
man. *Isay it not for my sake but for yours. Do you understand 
that you ought to forgive me that blow in the face if only because 
I gave you the opportunity of realising your immense power... . 
Again you smile your disdainful, worldly smile! Oh, when will 
you understand me! Have done with being a snob! Under- 
stand that I insist on that. I insist on it, else I won’t speak, I’m 
not going to for anything !”’ 

His. excitement was approaching frenzy. Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
dovitch frowned and seemed to become more on his guard. 

“ Since I have remained another half-hour with you when time 
is so precious,’ he pronounced earnestly and impressively, 
“you may rest assured that I mean to listen to you at least 
with interest . . . and I am convinced that I shall hear from 
you much that is new.” 

_ He sat down on a chair. 

** Sit down !”’ cried Shatov, and he sat down himself. 

*‘ Please remember,’’ Stavrogin interposed once more, “ that 
Il was about to ask a real favour of you concerning Marya Timo- 
fyevna, of great importance for her, anyway. 8 

“ What ?”’ Shatov frowned suddenly with the air/of a man 
who has just been interrupted at the most important moment, 
and who gazes at you unable to grasp the question. 

‘And you did not let me finish,’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
went on with a smile. | 

‘‘Oh, nonsense, afterwards!’? Shatov waved his hand dis- 
dainfully, grasping, at last, what he wanted, and passed at once 
to his principal theme. 


Vil 
“Do you know,” he began, with flashing eyes, almost 


menacingly, bending right forward in his chair, raising the fore- 
finger of his right hand above him (obviously unaware that he 


230 THE POSSESSED 


was doing so), ‘“‘do you know who are the only ‘ god-bearing ’ 
people on earth, destined to regenerate and save the world in 
the name of a new God, and to whom are given the keys of life 
and of the new world . . . Do you know which is that people and 
what is its name ?” 

“From your manner I am forced to conclude, and I think 
I may as well do so at once, that it is the Russian people.” 

** And you can laugh, oh, what a race !’’ Shatov burst out. 

“Calm yourself, I beg of you; on the contrary, I was expecting 
something of the sort from you.” 

“You expected something of the sort? And don’t you 
know those words yourself ? ”’ 

‘““T know them very well. I see only too well what you’re 
driving at. All your phrases, even the expression ‘ god-bearing 
people’ is only a sequel to our talk two years ago, abroad, not 
long before you went to America. . . . At least, as far as I can 
recall it now.” 

‘It’s your phrase altogether, not mine. Your own, not simply 
the sequel of our conversation. ‘ Our’ conversation it was not 
at all. It was a teacher uttering weighty words, and a pupil 
who was raised from the dead. I was that pupil and you were 
the teacher.’ | 

‘ But, if you remember, it was just after my words you joined 
their society, and only afterwards went away to America.” 

‘“* Yes, and I wrote to you from America about that. I wrote 
to you about everything. Yes, I could not at once tear my 
bleeding heart from what I had grown into from childhood, on 
which had been lavished all the raptures of my hopes and all the 
tears of my hatred. ... It is difficult to change gods. I did 
not believe you then, because I did not want to believe, I 
plunged for the last time into that sewer. . . . But the seed 
remained and grew up. Seriously, tell me seriously, didn’t you 
read all my letter from America, perhaps you didn’t read it 
at all 2?” 

“Tread three pages of it. The two first and the last. And 
I glanced through the middle as well. But I was always 
meaning...” 

‘ Ah, never mind, drop it! Damnit!” cried Shatov, waving 
his hand. “If you’ve renounced those words about the people 
now, how could you have uttered them then? . . . That’s what 
crushes me now.” 

“TI wasn’t joking with you then; in persuading you I was 


NEGA i 231 


perhaps more concerned with myself than with you,” Stavrogin 
pronounced enigmatically. 

“You weren't joking! In America I was lying for three 
months on straw beside a hapless creature, and I learnt from him 
that at the very time when you were sowing the seed of God and 
the Fatherland in my heart, at that very time, perhaps during 
those very days, you were infecting the heart of that hapless 
creature, that maniac Kirilov, with poison . . . you confirmed 
false malignant ideas in him, and brought him to the verge of 
insanity. ... Go, look at him now, he is your creation... 
you ve seen him though.” 

“In the first place, I must observe that Kirillov himself 
told me that he is happy and that he’s good. Your supposition 
that ali this was going on at the same time is almost correct. But 
what of it? I repeat, I was not deceiving either of you.” 

“ Are you an atheist ? An atheist now ?”’ 

6¢é Yes.”’ 

** And then ?”’ 

** Just as I was then.” 

“T wasn’t asking you to treat me with respect when I began 
the conversation. With your intellect you might have under- 
stood that,’’ Shatov muttered indignantly. 
 “T didn’t get up at your first word, I didn’t close the conversa- 
tion, I didn’t go away from you, but have been sitting here ever 
since submissively answering your questions and .. . cries, so 
it seems I have not been lacking in respect to you yet.” 

Shatov interrupted, waving his hand. 

‘**Do you remember your expression that ‘an atheist can’t be 
a Russian,’ that ‘an atheist at once ceases to be a Russian’ ? 
Do yott remember saying that 2?” 

“ Did I ?”’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch questioned him back. 

“You ask? You've forgotten? And yet that was one of 
the truest statements of the leading peculiarity of the Russian 
soul, which you divined. You can’t have forgotten it! I will 
remind you of something else: you said then that ‘a man who 
was not orthodox could not be Russian.’ ” 

*‘ T imagine that’s a Slavophil idea.”’ 

“The Slavophils of to-day disownit. Nowadays, people 
have grown cleverer. But you went further: you believed that 
Roman Catholicism was not Christianity ; you asserted that 
Rome proclaimed Christ subject to the third temptation of the 
devil. Announcing to all the world that Christ without an 


232 THE POSSESSED 


earthly kingdom cannot hold his ground upon earth, Catholicism 
by so doing proclaimed Antichrist and ruined the whole 
Western world. You pointed out that if France is in agonies now 
it’s simply the fault of Catholicism, for she has rejected the iniqui- 
tous God of Rome and has not found a new one. That’s what 
you could say then! I remember our conversations.” 

“Tf I believed, no doubt I should repeat it even now. I 
wasn’t lying when I spoke as though I had faith,” Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch pronounced very earnestly. ‘‘ But I must tell 
you, this repetition of my ideas in the past makes a very dis 
agreeable impression on me. Can’t you leave off ?”’ 

‘‘ Tf you believe it ?’’ repeated Shatov, paying not the slightest 
attention to this request. ‘‘ But didn’t you tell me that if it 
were mathematically proved to you that the truth excludes Christ, 
you'd prefer to stick to Christ rather than to the truth ? Did you 
say that? Did you?” 

‘““ But allow me too at last to ask a question,” said Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch, raising his voice. ‘“‘ What is the object of this 
irritable and . . . malicious cross-examination ?¢”’ 

“This examination will be over for all eternity, and you will 
never hear it mentioned again.” 

‘You keep insisting that we are outside the limits of time and 
space.” 

‘Hold your tongue!’ Shatov cried suddenly. “ Iam stupid 
and awkward, but let my name perish in ignominy! Let me re 
peat your leading idea. . . . Oh, only a dozen lines, only the con- 
clusion.” 

‘ Repeat it, if it’s only the conclusion. . . . 

Stavrogin made a movement to look at his watch, but restrained 
himself and did not look. 

Shatov bent forward in his chair again and again held up his 
finger for a moment. 

‘“‘ Not a single nation,” he went on, as though reading it line by 
line, still gazing menacingly at Stavrogin, ‘“‘ not a single nation 
has ever been founded on principles of science or reason. There 
has never been an example of it, except for a brief moment, 
through folly. Socialism is from its very nature bound to be 
atheism, seeing that it has from the very first proclaimed that it is 
an atheistic organisation of society, and that it intends to establish 
itself exclusively on the elements of science and reason. Science 
and reason have, from the beginning of time, played a secondary 
and subordinate part in the life of nations; so it will be till the 


99 


NIGHT 233 


end of time. Nations are built up and moved by another force 
which sways and dominates them, the origin of which is unknown 
and inexplicable: that force is the force of an insatiable desire 
to go on to the end, though at the same time it denies that end. 
It is the force of the persistent assertion of one’s own existence, 
and a denial of death. It’s the spirit of life, as the Scriptures 
call it, ‘the river of living water,’ the drying up of which is 
threatened in the Apocalypse. It’s the esthetic principle, as the 
philosophers call it, the ethical principle with which they identify 


. it, “the seeking for God,’ as I call it more simply. The object 


oi every national movement, in every people and at every period 
of its existence is only the seeking for its god, who must be its 

own god, and the faith in Him as the only true one. God is the 

synthetic personality of the whole people, taken from its beginning 
toitsend. It has never happened that all, or even many, peoples 
have had one common god, but each has always had its own. 

It’s a sign cf the decay of nations when they begin to have gods. 
incommon. When gods begin to be common to several nations 

the gods are dying and the faith in them, together with the 

nations themselves. The stronger a people the more individual 
their God. There never has been a nation without a religion, 

that is, without an idea of good and evil. Every people has its 

own conception of good and evil, and its own good and evil. 

When the same conceptions of good and evil become prevalent 
in several nations, then these nations are dying, and then the 

very distinction between good and evil is beginning to disappear. 

Reason has never had the power to define good and evil, or even 

to distinguish between good and evil, even approximately ; on 

the contrary, it has always mixed them up in a disgraceful and 

pitiful way; science has even given the solution by the fist. 

This is particularly characteristic of the half-truths of science, 

the most terrible scourge of humanity, unknown till this century, 

and worse than plague, famine, or war. A half-truth is a despot 

such as has never been in the world before. A despot that has its 

priests and its slaves, a despot to whom all do homage with love 

and superstition hitherto inconceivable, before which science 

itself trembles and cringes in a shameful way. These are your 

own words, Stavrogin, all except that about the half-truth ; that’s 

my own because I am myself a case of half-knowledge, and that’s 

why I hate it particularly. I haven’t altered anything of your 

ideas or even of your words, not a syllable.” 

‘“‘T don’t agree that you’ve nut altered anything,” Stavrogin 


234 THE POSSESSED 


observed cautiously. ‘‘ You accepted them with ardour, and in 
your ardour have transformed them unconsciously. The very 
fact that you reduce God to a simple attribute of nationality .. .” 

He suddenly began watching Shatov with intense and peculiar 
attention, not so much his words as himself. 

‘IT reduce God to the attribute of nationality ? ” cried Shatov. 
‘On the contrary, I raise the people to God. And has it ever 
been otherwise ? The people is the body of God. Every people 
is only a people so long as it has its own god and excludes all 
other gods on earth irreconcilably ; so long as it believes that by 
its god it will conquer and drive out of the world all other gods, 
Such, from the beginning of time, has been the belief of all great 
nations, all, anyway, who have been specially remarkable, all who 
have been leaders of humanity. There is no going against facts. 
The Jews lived only to await the coming of the true God and 
left the world the true God. The Greeks deified nature and 
‘bequeathed the world their religion, that is, philosophy and art. 
Rome deified the people in the State, and bequeathed the idea 
of the State to the nations. France throughout her long history 
was only the incarnation and development of the Roman god, 
and if they have at last flung their Roman god into the abyss 
and plunged into atheism, which, for the time being, they call 
socialism, it is solely because socialism is, anyway, healthier 
than Roman Catholicism. If a great people does not believe 
that the truth is only to be found in itself alone (in itself alone 
and in it exclusively); if it does not believe that it alone is fit 
and destined to raise up and save all the rest by its truth, it 
would at once sink into being ethnographical material, and not a 
great people. A really great people can never accept a secondary 
part in the history of Humanity, nor even one of the first, but 
will have the first part. A nation which loses this belief ceases to 
be a nation. But there is only one truth, and therefore only a 
single one out of the nations can have the true God, even 
though other nations may have great gods of their own. Only 
one nation is ‘ god-bearing,’ that’s the Russian people, and . . . 
and . . . and can you think me such a fool, Stavrogin,” he yelled 
frantically all at once, “that I can’t distinguish whether my 
words at this moment are the rotten old commonplaces that have 
been ground out in all the Slavophil mills in Moscow, or a 
perfectly new saying, the last word, the sole word of renewal and 
resurrection, and . . . and what do I care for your laughter at 
this minute! What do I care that you utterly, utterly fail to 


NIGHT 235 


understand me, not a word, not a sound! Oh, how I despise 
your haughty laughter and your look at this minute ! ” 

He jumped upfrom his seat; there was positively foam on his lips. 

‘“‘ On the contrary Shatov, on the contrary,” Stavrogin began 
with extraordinary earnestness and self-control, still keeping his 
seat, “on the contrary, your fervent words have revived many 
extremely powerful recollections in me. In your words I recog- 
nise my own mood two years ago, and now I will not tell you, as 
I did just now, that you have exaggerated my ideas. I believe, 
indeed, that they were even more exceptional, even more inde- 
pendent, and I assure you for the third time that I should be 
very glad to confirm all that you’ve said just now, every syllable 
of it, but)...” 

‘“* But you want a hare ?” 

© Wh-a-t 2” 

“Your own nasty expression,” Shatov laughed spitefully, 
sitting down again. ‘‘ To cook your hare you must first catch it, 
to believe in God you must first have a god. You used to say 
that in Petersburg, I’m told, like Nozdryov, who tried to catch 
a hare by his hind legs.”’ 

‘‘ No, what he did was to boast he’d caught him. By the way, 
allow me to trouble you with a question though, for indeed I think I 
havetheright toonenow. Tellme, have you caught your hare?” 

*‘ Don’t dare to ask me in such words! Ask differently, quite 
differently.” Shatov suddenly began trembling all over. 

* Certainly [ll ask differently.” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
looked coldly at him. “TI only wanted to know, do you believe 
in God, yourself ? ” 

‘I believe in Russia. . . . I believe inher orthodoxy. ... I 
believe in the body of Christ. . . . I believe that the new advent 
will take place in Russia. . . . I believe . . .”’’ Shatov muttered 


frantically. 
*Andin God? In God?” 
*“T ... I will believe in God.” 


Not one muscle moved in Stavrogin’s face. Shatov looked 
passionately and defiantly at him, as though he would have 
scorched him with his eyes. 

“T haven’t told you that I don’t believe,” he cried at last. “I 
will only have you know that I am a luckless, tedious book, and 
nothing more so far, so far. ... But confound me! We're 
discussing you not me. . . . ’ma man of no talent, and can only 
give my blood, nothing more, like every man without talent; 


236 THE POSSESSED 


never mind my blood either! I’m talking about you. I’vebeen 
waiting here two years for you. . . . Here I’ve been dancing 
about in my nakedness before you for the last half-hour. You, 
only you can raise that flag! ...” 

He broke off, and sat as though in despair, with his elbows on 
the table and his head in his hands. 

‘“‘T merely mention it as something queer,’ Stavrogin inter- 
rupted suddenly. “Every one for some inexplicable reason 
keeps foisting a flag upon me. Pyotr Verhovensky, too, is 
convinced that I might ‘ raise his flag,’ that’s how his words were 
repeated to me, anyway. He has taken it into his head that 
I’m capable of playing the part of Stenka Razin for them, 
‘from my extraordinary aptitude for crime,’ his saying too.” 

‘““ What ?”’ cried Shatov, ‘‘ ‘ from your extraordinary aptitude 
for crime’ ¢”’ 

* Just so.” 

“H’m! And is it true?” he asked, with anangry smile. “Is 
it true that when you were in Petersburg you belonged to a secret 
society for practising beastly sensuality ? Is it true that you 
could give lessons to the Marquis de Sade? Is it true that you 
decoyed and corrupted children? Speak, don’t dare to lie,” 
he cried, beside himself. ‘‘ Nikolay Stavrogin cannot lie to 
Shatov, who struck him in the face. Tell me everything, and if 
it’s true Pll kill you, here, on the spot !”’ 

‘“T did talk like that, but it was not I who outraged children,” 
Stavrogin brought out, after a silence that lasted too long. He 
turned pale and his eyes gleamed. 

“But you talked like that,’ Shatov went on imperiously, 
keeping his flashing eyes fastened upon him. “Is it true that 
you declared that you saw no distinction in beauty between 
some brutal obscene action and any great exploit, even the 
sacrifice of life for the good of humanity ? Isit true that you have 
found identical beauty, equal enjoyment, in both extremes ? ”’ 

“It’s impossible to answer like this. . . . I won’t answer,” 
muttered Stavrogin, who might well have got up and gone away, 
but who did not get up and go away. 

‘“‘T don’t know either why evil is hateful and good is beautiful, 
but I know why the sense of that distinction is effaced and lost in 
people like the Stavrogins,” Shatov persisted, trembling all 
over. “Do you know why you made that base and shameful 
marriage ? Simply because the shame and senselessness of it 
reached the pitch of genius! Oh, you are not one of those who 


NIGHT 237 


linger on the brink. You fly head foremost. You married 
from a passion for martyrdom, from a craving for remorse, 
through moral sensuality. It was a laceration of the nerves. 
. . . Defiance of common sense was too tempting. Stavrogin 
and a wretched, half-witted, crippled beggar! When you bit 
the governor’s ear did you feel sensual pleasure? Did you ? 
You idle, loafing, little snob. Did you ?”’ 

“ You're a psychologist,’ said Stavrogin, turning paler and 
paler, “ though you're partly mistaken as to the reasons of my 
marriage. But who can have given you all this information ?”’ 
he asked, smiling, with an effort. ‘‘ Was it Kirillov? But he 
had nothing to do with it.” 

“You turn pale.” 

“But what is it you want?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
asked, raising his voice at last. ‘‘ I’ve been sitting under your 
lash for the last half-hour, and you might at least let me go civilly. 
Unless you really have some reasonable object in treating me 
like this.”’ 

** Reasonable object ? ” 

** Of course, you’re in duty bound, anyway, to let me know your 
object. I’ve been expecting you to do so all the time, but 
you've shown me nothing so far but frenzied spite. I beg you 
to open the gate for me.” 

He gotupfromthechair. Shatov rushed frantically after him. 

** Kiss the earth, water it with your tears, pray for forgiveness,” 
he cried, clutching him by the shoulder. 

“T didn’t kill you... that morning, though ...I1 drew 
back my hands...’ Stavrogin brought out almost with 
anguish, keeping his eyes on the ground. 

‘Speak out! Speak out! You came to warn me of danger. 
You have let me speak. You mean to-morrow to announce your 
marriage publicly. . . . Do you suppose I don’t see from your 
face that some new menacing idea is dominating you?... 
Stavrogin, why am I condemned to believe in you through all 
eternity 2? Could I speak like this to anyone else? I have 
modesty, but I am not ashamed of my nakedness because it’s 
Stavrogin I am speaking to. I was not afraid of caricaturing a 
grand idea by handling it because Stavrogin was listening to 
me. ... Shan’t I kiss your footprints when you’ve gone? . [ 
can’t tear you out of my heart, Nikolay Stavrogin !”’ 

‘“‘T’m sorry I can’t feel affection for you, Shatov,” Stavrogin 
replied coldly. 


238 THE POSSESSED 


“I know you can’t, and I know you are not lying. Listen. 
I can set it all right. I can ‘catch your hare’ for you.” 

Stavrogin did not speak. 

‘‘ Yow’re an atheist because you’re a snob, a snob of the snobs. 
You’ ve lost the distinction between good and evil because you’ve 
lost touch with your own poeple. A new generation is coming, 
straight from the heart of the people, and you will know nothing 
of it, neither you nor the Verhovenskys, father or son; nor I, 
for I’m a snob too—lI, the son of your serf and lackey, Pashka. 
... Listen. Attain to God by work; it all lies in that; or 
disappear like rotten mildew. Attain to Him by work.” 

“God by work? What sort of work ?” 

‘“‘ Peasants’ work. Go, give up all your wealth. ... Ah! 
you laugh, you're afraid of some trick ?”’ 

But Stavrogin was not laughing. 

‘““ You suppose that one may attain to God by work, and by 
peasants’ work,’ he repeated, reflecting as though he had really 
come across something new and serious which was worth consider- 
ing. ‘“* By the way,” he passed suddenly to a new idea, “‘ you re- 
minded me just now. Do you know that I’m notrich at all, that ?ve 
nothing to give up ? I’m scarcely ina position even to provide for 
Marya Timofyevna’s future. .. . Another thing : I came to ask you 
if it would be possible for you to remain near Marya Timofyevna 
in the future, as you are the only person who has some influence 
over her poor brain. I say this so as to be prepared for anything.” 

“ Allright, allright. You’re speaking of Marya Timofyevna,”’ 
said Shatov, waving one hand, while he held a candle in the other. 
“All right. Afterwards, of course. . . . Listen. Go to Tihon.” 

“'To whom ?”’ 

“'To Tihon, who used to bea bishop. He lives retired now, on 
account of illness, here in the town, in the Bogorodsky monastery.”’ 

‘“ What do you mean ?”’ 

‘Nothing. People go and see him. You go. What is it to 
you? What is it to you?” | 

‘“‘ It’s the first time I’ve heard of him, and... I’ve never 
seen anything of that sort of people. Thank you, I'll go.” 

“This way.” 

Shatov lighted him down the stairs. ‘‘ Go along.’ He flung 
open the gate into the street. 

‘““T shan’t come to you any more, Shatov,” said Stavrogin 
quietly as he stepped through the gateway. ; 

The darkness and the rain continued as before. 


CHAPTER II 
NIGHT (continued) 


I 


He walked the length of Bogoyavlensky Street. At last the 
road began to go downhill; his feet slipped in the mud and 
suddenly there lay open before him a wide, misty, as it were 
empty expanse—the river. The houses were replaced by hovels ; 
the street was lost in a multitude of irregular little alleys. 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was a long while making his way 
between the fences, keeping close to the river bank, but finding 
his way confidently, and scarcely giving it a thought indeed. 
He was absorbed in something quite different, and looked round 
with surprise when suddenly, waking up from a profound reverie, 
he found himself almost in the middle of one long, wet, floating 
bridge. 

There was not a soul to be seen, so that it seemed strange to 
him when suddenly, almost at his elbow, he heard a deferentially 
familiar, but rather pleasant, voice, with a suave intonation, 
such as is affected by our over-refined tradespeople or befrizzled 
young shop assistants. 

‘Will you kindly allow me, sir, to share your umbrella ? ”’ 

There actually was a figure that crept under his umbrella, 
or tried to appear to do so. The tramp was walking beside him, 
almost “‘ feeling his elbow,’ as the soldiers say. Slackening his 
pace, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch bent down to look more closely, 
as far as he could, in the darkness. It was a short man, and 
seemed like an artisan who had been drinking ; he was shabbily 
and scantily dressed; a cloth cap, soaked by the rain and with 
the brim half torn off, perched on his shaggy, curly head. He 
looked a thin, vigorous, swarthy man with dark hair; his eyes 
were large and must have been black, with a hard glitter and a 
yellow tinge in them, like a gipsy’s; that could be divined even 
in the darkness. He was about forty, and was not drunk. 

“Do you know me ?”’ asked Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. 

‘Mr. Stavrogin, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. You were pointed 
out to me at the station, when the train stopped last Sunday, 


though I had heard enough of you beforehand.” 
239 


240 THE POSSESSED 


“From Pyotr Stepanovitch? Are you... Fedka the 
convict ?” 

“I was christened Fyodor Fyodorovitch. My mother is 
living to this day in these parts; she’s an old woman, and 
grows more and more bent every day. She prays to God for me, 
day and night, so that she doesn’t waste her old age lying on the 
stove.” 

‘““ You escaped from prison ? ” 

‘““Tve had a change of luck. I gave up books and bells and 
church-going because I'd a life sentence, so that I had a very long 
time to finish my term.” 

‘‘ What are you doing here ?”’ 

‘Well, I do what I can. My uncle, too, died last week in 
prison here. He was there for false coin, so I threw two dozen 
stones at the dogs by way of memorial. That’s all I’ve been 
doing so far. Moreover Pyotr Stepanovitch gives me hopes of a 
passport, and a merchant’s one, too, to go all over Russia, so I’m 
waiting on his kindness. ‘ Because,’ says he, ‘my papa lost you at 
cards at the English club, and I,’ says he, ‘ find that inhumanity 
unjust.’ You might have the kindness to give me three roubles, 
sir, for a glass to warm myself.’’ 

““So you’ve been spying on me. I don’t like that. By whose 
orders ?” , 

‘As to orders, it’s nothing of the sort; it’s simply that I 
knew of your benevolence, which is known to all the world. All we 
get, as you know, is an armful of hay, or a prod with a fork. 
Last Friday I filled myself as full of pie as Martin did of soap ; 
since then I didn’t eat one day, and the day after I fasted, and 
on the third I’d nothing again. I’ve had my fill of water from 
the river. I’m breeding fish in my belly... . So won’t your 
honour give me something? I’ve a sweetheart expecting me 
not far from here, but I daren’t show myself to her without 
money.”’ 

‘““ What did Pyotr Stepanovitch promise you from me ?”’ 

“He didn’t exactly promise anything, but only said that I 
might be of use to your honour if my luck turns out good, but 
how exactly he didn’t explain; for Pyotr Stepanovitch wanta 
to see if I have the patience of a Cossack, and feels no sort of 
confidence in me.” 

66 Why 2 >? 

“Pyotr Stepanovitch is an astronomer, and has learnt all God’s 
planets, but even he may be criticised. I stand before you, sir, 


NIGHT 241 


as before God, because I have heard so much about you. Pyotr 
Stepanovitch is one thing, but you, sir, maybe, are something 
else. When he’s said of a man he’s a scoundrel, he knows 
nothing more about him except that he’s a scoundrel. Or if 
he’s said he’s a fool, then that man has no calling with him except 
that of fool. But I may be a fool Tuesday and Wednesday, 
and on Thursday wiser than he. Here now he knows about me 
that I’m awfully sick to get a passport, for there’s no getting on 
in Russia without papers—so he thinks that he’s snared my soul. 
I tell you, sir, life’s a very easy business for Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
for he fancies a man to be this and that, and goes on as though 
he really was. And, what’s more, he’s beastly stingy. It’s 
his notion that, apart from him, I daren’t trouble you, but I 
stand before you, sir, as before God. This is the fourth night 
I’ve been waiting for your honour on this bridge, to show that 
I can find my own way on the quiet, without him. Id better 
bow to a boot, thinks I, than to a peasant’s shoe.” 

*‘ And who told you that I was going to cross the bridge at 
night ?”’ 

*‘ Well, that, Pll own, came out by chance, most through 
Captain Lebyadkin’s foolishness, because he can’t keep anything 
to himself. . . . So that three roubles from your honour would 
pay me for the weary time I’ve had these three days and nights. 
And the clothes I’ve had soaked, I feel that too much to speak 
of it.” 

“Tm going to the left; you'll go to the right. Here’s the 
end of the bridge. Listen, Fyodor; I like people to understand 
what I say, once for all. I won’t give you a farthing. Don’t 
meet me in future on the bridge or anywhere. I’ve no need 
of you, and never shall have, and if you don’t obey, I'll tie you 
and take you to the police. March!” 

‘““Eh-heh! Fling me something for my company, anyhow. 
I’ve cheered you on your way.” 


“ Be off !”’ 
‘But do you know the way here? There are all sorts of 
turnings. ... I could guide you; for this town is for all the 


world as though the devil carried it in his basket and dropped it 
in bits here and there.” 
“Tl tie you up!” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, turning 
upon him menacingly. ‘ 
“‘ Perhaps you'll change your mind, sir; it’s easy to ill-treat 
the helpless.” 
Oar: 


242 THE POSSESSED 


{°? 


‘“‘ Well, I see you can rely on yourself 

“I rely upon you, sir, and not very much on myself. . . .” 

“‘T’ve no need of you at all. I’ve told you so already.”’ 

‘** But I have need, that’s how it is! I shall wait for you on 
the way back. There’s nothing for it.” 

‘“‘T give you my word of honour if I meet you I'll tie you up.” 

“ Well, Pll get a belt ready for you to tie me with. A lucky 
journey to you, sir. You kept the helpless snug under your 
umbrella. For that alone I’ll be grateful to you to my dying day.” 

He fell behind. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch walked on to his 
destination, feeling disturbed. ‘This man who had dropped from 
the sky was absolutely convinced that he was indispensable to 
him, Stavrogin, and was in insolent haste to tell him so. He was 
being treated unceremoniously all round. But it was possible, 
too, that the tramp had not been altogether lying, and had 
tried to force his services upon him on his own initiative, without 
Pyotr Stepanovitch’s knowledge, and that would be more 
curious still, 


II 


The house which Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had reached 
stood alone in a deserted lane between fences, beyond which 
market gardens stretched, at the very end of the town. It was 
a very solitary little wooden house, which was only just built 
and not yet weather-boarded. In one of the little windows 
the shutters were not yet closed, and there was a candle standing 
on the window-ledge, evidently as a signal to the late guest 
who was expected that night. Thirty paces away Stavrogin 
made out on the doorstep the figure of a tall man, evidently 
the master of the house, who had come out to stare impatiently 
up the road. He heard his voice, too, impatient and, as it were, 
timid. 

“Is that you? You?” 

“Yes,” responded Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but not till he 
had mounted the steps and was folding up his umbrella. 

‘* At last, sir.” Captain Lebyadkin, for it was he, ran fussily 
to and fro. ‘Let me take your umbrella, please. It’s very 
wet; Dll open it on the floor here, in the corner. Please walk 
in. Please walk in.” 

The door was open from the passage into a room that was 
lighted by two candles. 


NIGHT | 243 


“Tf it had not been for your promise that you would certainly 
come, I should have given up expecting you.” 

“A quarter to one,”’ said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, looking 
at his watch, as he went into the room. 

“And in this rain; and such an interesting distance. I’ve 
no clock . . . and there are nothing but market-gardens round 
me... so that you fall behind the times. Not that I murmur 
exactly ; for I dare not, I dare not, but only because I’ve been 
devoured with impatience all the week ... to have things 
settled at last.” 

“How so?” 

“To hear my fate, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. Please sit 
down.” 

He bowed, pointing to a seat by the table, before the sofa. 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked round. The room was tiny 
and low-pitched. The furniture consisted only of the most 
essential articles, plain wooden chairs and a sofa, also newly 
made without covering or cushions. There were two tables 
of limewood ; one by the sofa, and the other in the corner was 
covered with a table-cloth, laid with things over which a clean 
table-napkin had been thrown. And, indeed, the whole room 
was obviously kept extremely clean. 

Captain Lebyadkin had not been drunk for eight days. His 
face looked bloated and yellow. His eyes looked uneasy, 
inquisitive, and obviously bewildered. It was only too evident 
that he did not know what tone he could adopt, and what line 
it would be most advantageous for him to take. 

‘“‘ Here,’ he indicated his surroundings, “‘I live like Zossima. 
Sobriety, solitude, and poverty—the vow of the knights of old.” 

“You imagine that the knights of old took such vows ?”’ 

“Perhaps I’m mistaken. Alas! I have no culture. I’ve 
ruined all. Believe me, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, here first 
I have recovered from shameful propensities—not a glass nor a 
drop! I have a home, and for six days past I have experienced 
a conscience at ease. Even the walls smell of resin and remind 
me of nature. And what have I been; what was I. 


‘ At night without a bed I wander 
And my tongue put out by day...’ 
to use the words of a poet of genius. But you’re wet through. 


... Wouldn’t you like some tea ?”’ 
“ Don’t trouble.” 


244 THE POSSESSED 


“The samovar has been boiling since eight o’clock, but it 
went out at last like everything in this world. The sun, too, they 
say, will gooutinitsturn. Butif you like I’ll get up the samovar. 
Agafya is not asleep.” 

“Tell me, Marya Timofyevna... 

** She’s here, here,’ Lebyadkin replied at once, in a whisper. 
* Would you like to have a look at her?”’ He pointed to the 
closed door to the next room. 

“‘ She’s not asleep ? ”’ 

““Oh, no, no. How could she be? On the contrary, she’s 
been expecting you all the evening, and as soon as she heard 
you were coming she began making her toilet.”’ 

He was just twisting his mouth into a jocose smile, but he 
instantly checked himself. 

“* How is she, on the whole ?”’ asked Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, 
frowning. 

“On the whole? You know that yourself, sir.” He shrugged 
his shoulders commiseratingly. “But just now... just now 
she’s telling her fortune with cards. . . .” | 

“Very good. Later on. First of all I must finish with 
you.” 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch settled himself in a chair. 

The captain did not venture to sit down on the sofa, but at 
once moved up another chair for himself, and bent forward 
to listen, in a tremor of expectation. 

“What have you got there under the table-cloth ?”’ asked 
Nikolay Vsyevorodovitch, suddenly noticing it. 

“ That ?” said Lebyadkin, turning towards it also. ‘“ That’s 
from your generosity, by way of house-warming, so to say3 
considering also the length of the walk, and your natural fatigue,” 
he sniggered ingratiatingly. Then he got up on tiptoe, and 
respectfully and carefully lifted the table-cloth from the table in 
the corner. Under it was seen a slight meal: ham, veal, 
sardines, cheese, a little green decanter, and a long bottle of 
Bordeaux. Everything had been laid neatly, expertly, and 
almost daintily. 

“Was that your effort ?”’ 

“Yes, sir. Ever since yesterday I’ve done my best, and all 
to do you honour.... Marya Timofyevna doesn’t trouble 
herself, as you know, on that score. And what’s more its all 
from your liberality, your own providing, as you’re the master 
of the house and not I, and I’m only, so to say, your agent. All 


39 


NIGHT 245 


the same, all the same, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, all the same, 
in spirit, ’m independent! Don’t take away from me this last 
possession ! ’’ he finished up pathetically. 

“H’m! You might sit down again.”’ 

“ Gra-a-teful, grateful, and independent.” He sat down. 
“Ah, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, so much has been fermenting 
in this heart that I have not known how to wait for your coming. 
Now you will decide my fate, and . . . that unhappy creature’s, 
and then . . . shall I pour out all I feel to you as I used to in 
old days, four years ago? You deigned to listen to me then, 
you read my verses. ... They might call me your Falstaff 
from Shakespeare in those days, but you meant so much in my 
life! I have great terrors now, and its only to you I look for 
counsel and light. Pyotr Stepanovitch is treating me abomin- 
ably!” 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch listened with interest, and looked at 
him attentively. It was evident that though Captain Lebyadkin 
had left off drinking he was far from being in a harmonious 
state of mind. Drunkards of many years’ standing, like 
Lebyadkin, often show traces of incoherence, of mental cloudiness, 
of something, as it were, damaged, and crazy, though they 
may deceive, cheat, and swindle, almost as well as anybody if 
occasion arises. 

“T see that you haven’t changed a bit in these four years 
and more, captain,’ said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, somewhat 
more amiably. “It seems, in fact, as though the second half 
of a man’s life is usually made up of nothing but the habits. he 
has accumulated during the first half.’ 

“Grand words! You solve the riddle of life!” said the 
captain, half cunningly, half in genuine and unfeigned admiration, 
for he was a great lover of words. ‘“‘ Of all your sayings, Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch, I remember one thing above all; you were in 
Petersburg when you said it: ‘One must really be a great man 
to be able to make a stand even against common sense.’ That 
was it.” 

‘Yes, and a fool as well.” 

** A fool as well, maybe. But you’ve been scattering clever 
sayings all your life, while they ... Imagine Liputin, imagine 
Pyotr Stepanovitch saying anything like that! Oh, how 
cruelly Pyotr Stepanovitch has treated me !”’ 

‘But how about yourself, captain? What can you say of 
your behaviour ?”’ , 


246 THE POSSESSED 


** Drunkenness, and the multitude of my enemies. But now 
that’s all over, all over, and I have a new skin, like a snake. 
Do you know, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, I am making my will; 
in fact, I’ve made it already 2” 

“‘That’s interesting. What are you leaving, and to whom ?” 

“To my fatherland, to humanity, and to the students. 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, I read in the paper the biography 
of an American. He left all his vast fortune to factories and 
to the exact sciences, and his skeleton to the students of the 
academy there, and his skin to be made into a drum, so that the 
American national hymn might be beaten upon it day and night. 
Alas! we are pigmies in mind compared with the soaring thought 
of the States of North America. Russia is the play of nature 
but not of mind. If I were to try leaving my skin for a drum, 
for instance, to the Akmolinsky infantry regiment, in which I 
had the honour of beginning my service, on condition of beating 
the Russian national hymn upon it every day, in face of the 
regiment, they'd take it for liberalism and prohibit my skin... 
and so I confine myself to the students. I want to leave my 
skeleton to the academy, but on the condition though, on the 
condition that a label should be stuck on the forehead for ever 
and ever, with the words: ‘A repentant free-thinker.’ There 
now !”’ 

The captain spoke excitedly, and genuinely believed, of course, 
that there was something fine in the American will, but he was 
cunning too, and very anxious to entertain Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
vitch, with whom he had played the part of a buffoon for a long 
time in the past. But the latter did not even smile, on the 
contrary, he asked, as it were, suspiciously : 

“So you intend to publish your will in your lifetime and get 
rewarded for it ?”’ 

“And what if I do, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch ? What if I 
do ?”’ said Lebyadkin, watching him carefully. ‘‘ What sort of 
luck have Thad? I’ve given up writing poetry, and at one time 
even you were amused by my verses, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. 
Do you remember our reading them over a bottle? But it’s 
all over’ with my pen. I’ve written only one poem, like Gogol’s 
“The Last Story.’ Do you remember he proclaimed to Russia 
that it broke spontaneously from his bosom ?_ It’s the same with 
me; I’ve sung my last and it’s over.” 

“What sort of poem ?”’ 

“Tn case she were to break her leg.’ ” 


NIGHT 247 


* Wha-a-t 2?” 

That was ali the captain was waiting for. He had an un- 
bounded admiration for his own poems, but, through a certain 
cunning duplicity, he was pleased, too, that Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
vitch always made merry over his poems, and sometimes laughed 
at them immoderately. In this way he killed two birds with 
one stone, satisfying at once his poetical aspirations and his 
desire to be of service ; but now he had a third special and very 
ticklish object in view. Bringing his verses on the scene, the 
captain thought to exculpate himself on one point about which, 
for some reason, he always felt himself most apprehensive, and 
most guilty. 

*“*In case of her breaking her leg.’ That is, of her riding 
on horseback. It’s a fantasy, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, a wild 
- fancy, but the fancy of a poet. One day I was struck by meeting 
a lady on horseback, and asked myself the vital question, ‘ What 
would happen then?’ That is, in case of accident. All her 
followers turn away, all her suitors are gone. A pretty kettle 
of fish. Only the poet remains faithful, with his heart shattered 
in his breast, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. Even a louse may be in 
love, and is not forbidden by law. And yet the lady was offended 
by the letter and the verses. I’m told that even you were angry. 
Were you? I wouldn't believe in anything so grievous. Whom 
could I harm simply by imagination ? Besides, I swear on my 
honour, Liputin kept saying, ‘Send it, send it,’ every man, 
however humble, has a right to send a letter! And so [ 
sent it.” 

** You offered yourself as a suitor, I understand.” 

** Enemies, enemies, enemies ! ”’ 

** Repeat the verses,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sternly. 

** Ravings, ravings, more than anything.” 

However, he drew himself up, stretched out his hand, and 
began : 

“ With broken limbs my beauteows queen 
Is twice as charming as before, 
And, deep in love as I have been, 
T'o-day I love her even more.” 


“Come, that’s enough,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, with 
a wave of his hand. 

“T dream of Petersburg,” cried Lebyadkin, passing quickly 
to another subject, as though there had been no mention of verses. 


> 


248. THE POSSESSED 


“TI dream of regeneration. ... Benefactor! May I reckon 
that you won’t refuse the means for the journey? Ive been 
waiting for you all the week as my sunshine.” 

“Vl do nothing of the sort. Ive scarcely any money left. 
And why should I give you money ? ”’ 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch seemed suddenly angry. Dryly and 
briefly he recapitulated all the captain’s misdeeds ; his drunken- 
ness, his lying, his squandering of the money meant for Marya 
Timofyevna, his having taken her from the nunnery, his insolent 
letters threatening to publish the secret, the way he had behaved 
about Darya Pavlovna, and so on, and so on. The captain 
heaved, gesticulated, began to reply, but every time Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch stopped him peremptorily. 

“‘ And listen,’’ he observed at last, “ you keep writing about 
‘family disgrace.’ What. disgrace is it to you that your sister 
is the lawful wife of a Stavrogin ?” 

‘““ But marriage in secret, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch—a fatal 
secret. I receive money from you, and I’m suddenly asked the 
question, ‘What's that money for?’ My hands are tied; 
L cannot answer to the detriment of my sister, to the detriment 
of the family honour.” | 

The captain raised his voice. He liked that subject and 
reckoned boldly upon it. Alas! he did not realise what a blow 
was in store for him. 

Calmly and exactly, as though he were speaking of the most 
everyday arrangement, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch informed 
him that in a few days, perhaps even to-morrow or the day 
after, he intended to make his marriage known everywhere, “‘ to 
the police as well as to local society.’”” And so. the question of 
family honour would be settled once for all, and with it the 
question of subsidy. The captain’s eyes were ready to drop 
out of his head ; he positively could not take it in. It had to be 
explained to him. 

But she is....... crazy.” 

“I shall make suitable arrangements.”’ 

“But ... how about your mother ?” 

‘‘ Well, she must do as she likes.”’ 

“* But will you take your wife to your house 2?” 

,, Perhaps so. But that is absolutely nothing to do with you 
and no concern of yours.” 

‘No concern of mine!” cried the captain. ‘“‘ What about 
me then }”’ 


NIGHT 249 


*‘ Well, certainly you won’t come into my house.” 

* But, you know, I’m a relation.” 

‘““One does one’s best to escape from such relations. Why 
should I go on giving you money then.?, Judge for yourself.”’ 

‘“‘ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, this is 
impossible. You will think better of it, perhaps? You don’t 
want to lay hands upon. .. . What will people think ? What 
will the world say ?”’ 

‘Much I care for your world. J married your sister when the 
faney took me, after a drunken dinner, for a bet, and now [ll 
makeit public . . . since that amuses me now.” 

He said this with a peculiar irritability, so that Lebyadkin 
began with horror to believe him. 

“But me, me? What about me? I’m what matters 
most! ... Perhaps you’re joking, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch ?”’ 

“No, ?m not joking.” 

“As you will, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch,. but I. don’t believe 
you. ... Then I’ll take proceedings.” 

* You're fearfully stupid, captain.” 

“Maybe, but this is all that’s left me,’ said the captain, 
losing his head completely. ‘In old days we used to get free 
quarters, anyway, for the work she did in the ‘corners.’ But 
what will happen now if you throw me over altogether ?”’ 

‘“ But you want to go to Petersburg to try anew career. By the 
way, is it true what I hear, that you mean to go and. give infor- 
mation, in the hope of obtaining a pardon, by betraying all the 
others ? ” 

The captain stood gaping with wide-open eyes, and made no 
answer. 

“Listen, captain,’ Stavrogin began suddenly, with great 
earnestness, bending down to the table. Until then he had been 
talking, as it were, ambiguously, so that Lebyadkin, who had wide 
experience in playing the part of buffoon, was up to the last 
moment a trifle uncertain whether his patron were really angry 
or simply putting it on ; whether he really had the wild intention 
of making his marriage public, or whether he were only playing. 
Now Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s stern expression was s0 con- 
vincing that a shiver ran down the captain’s back. 

“Listen, and tell the truth, Lebyadkin. Have you betrayed 
anything yet, or not ? Have you succeeded in doing anything 
really? Have you sent a letter to somebody in your foolish- 
ness ?” 


250 THE POSSESSED 


“‘ No, I haven’t . . . and I haven’t thought of doing it,”’ said 
the captain, looking fixedly at him. | 

“ That’s a lie, that you haven’t thought of doing it. That’s 
what you’re asking to go to Petersburg for. If you haven't 
written, have you blabbed to anybody here? Speak the 
truth. Dve heard something.” 

‘‘When I was drunk, to Liputin. Liputin’s a traitor. I 
opened my heart to him,” whispered the poor captain. 

‘** That’s all very well, but there’s no need to be anass. If you 
had an idea you should have kept it to yourself. Sensible 
people hold their tongues nowadays ; they don’t go chattering.” 

“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch!” said the captain, quaking. 
*“You’ve had nothing to do with it yourself; it’s not you 
Piven.” 

“Yes. You wouldn’t have ventured to kill the goose that 
laid your golden eggs.” 

“ Judge for yourself, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, judge for 
yourself,’ and, in despair, with tears, the captain began hurriedly 
relating the story of his life for the last four years. It was the 
most stupid story of a fool, drawn into matters that did not 
concern him, and in his drunkenness and debauchery unable, 
till the last minute, to grasp their importance. He said that 
before he left Petersburg ‘ he had been drawn in, at first simply 
through friendship, like a regular student, although he wasn’t a 
student,’ and knowing nothing about it, ‘without being guilty 
of anything,’ he had scattered various papers on staircases, left 
them by dozens at doors, on bell-handles, had thrust them in as 
though they were newspapers, taken them to the theatre, put 
them in people’s hats, and slipped them into pockets. After- 
wards he had taken money from them, ‘ for what means had I ?’ 
He had distributed all sorts of rubbish through the districts of 
two provinces. ‘‘ Oh, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch !”’ he exclaimed, 
“ what revolted me most was that this was utterly opposed to 
civic, and still more to patriotic laws. They suddenly printed 
that men were to go out with pitchforks, and to remember 
that those who went out poor in the morning might go home 
rich at night. Only think of it! It made me shudder, and yet 
I distributed it. Or suddenly five or six lines addressed to the 
whole of Russia, apropos of nothing, ‘Make haste and lock up 
the churches, abolish God, do away with marriage, destroy the 
right of inheritance, take up your knives,’ that’s all, and God 
knows what it means. [ tell you, I almost got caught with this 


NIGHT 251 


five-line leaflet. The officers in the regiment gave me a thrashing, 
but, bless them for it, let me go. And last year I was almost 
caught when I passed off French counterfeit notes for fifty roubles 
on Korovayev, but, thank God, Korovayev fell into the pond 
when he was drunk, and was drowned in the nick of time, and 
they didn’t succeed in tracking me. Here, at Virginsky’s, I 
proclaimed the freedom of the communistic wife. In June I was 
distributing manifestoes again in X district. They say they will 
- make medo it again. . . . PyotrStepanovitch suddenly gave me 
to understand that I must obey ; he’s been threatening me a long 
time. How he treated me that Sunday! Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, 
I am a slave, I am a worm, but not a God, which is where I 
differ from Derzhavin.* But I’ve no income, no income!” 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch heard it all with curiosity. 

*“‘ A great deal of that I had heard nothing of,” he said. “ Of 
course, anything may have happened to you... . Listen,” he 
said, after a minute’s thought. “If you like, you can tell them, 
you know whom, that Liputin was lying, and that you were only 
pretending to give information to frighten me, supposing that I, 
too, was compromised, and that you might get more money out 
of me that way. . . . Do you understand ?” 

“Dear Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, is it possible that there’s 
such a danger hanging over me? I’ve been longing for you to 
come, to ask you.” 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch laughed. 

“They certainly wouldn’t let you go to Petersburg, even if 


I were to give you money for the journey. . . . But it’s time for 
me to see Marya Timofyevna.” And he got up from his chair. 

“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, but how about Marya Timo- 
fyevna ?”’ 


** Why, as I told you.” 

** Can it be true ?”’ 

** You still don’t believe it ?” 

* Will you really cast me off like an old worn-out shoe ?”’ 

“T’llsee,” laughed Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. ‘‘Come, let mego.”’ 

*Wouldn’t you like me to stand on the steps . . . for fear I 
might by chance overhear something ... for the rooms are 
small ?” 

‘“'That’s as well. Stand on the steps. Take my umbrella.” 

“Your umbrella... . AmI worth it ?” said the captain over- 
sweetly. 

* The reference is to a poem of Derzhavin’s. 


252 THE POSSESSED 


‘* Anyone is worthy of an umbrella.” 

‘* At one stroke you define the minimum of humanrights. . .. 

But he was by now muttering mechanically.. He was too much, 
crushed by what he had learned, and was completely thrown, 
out of his reckoning. And yet almost as soon as he had gone 
out on to the steps and had put up the umbrella, there: his 
shallow and cunning brain caught again the | ever-present, 
comforting idea that he was being cheated and deceived, and if 
so they were afraid of him, and there was no need for him to be 
afraid. 

‘‘ Tf they’re lying and deceiving me, what’s at the bottom of 
it ?’’ was the thought that gnawed at his mind. The public 
announcement of the marriage seemed to him absurd. “‘ It’s 
true that with such a wonder-worker anything may come to 
pass; helivestodo harm. But what if he’s afraid himself, since 
the insult of Sunday, and afraid as he’s never been before ?, 
And so he’s in a hurry to declare that he’ll announce it himself, 
from fear that I should announce it. Eh, don’t blunder, Lebyad- 
kin! And why does he come on the sly, at night, if he means 
to make it public himself? And if he’s afraid, it means that he’s 
afraid now, at this moment, for these few days. . . . Eh, don’t 
make a mistake, Lebyadkin ! 

‘He scares me with Pyotr Stepanovitch. Oy, I’m frightened, 
I’m frightened! Yes, this is what’s so frightening! And what 
induced me to blab to Liputin. Goodness knows what these 
devils are up to. I never can make head or tail of it. Now they 
are all astir again as they were five years ago. To whom could 
I give information, indeed ? ‘ Haven’t I written toanyonein my 
foolishness?’ H’m! So then I might write as though through 
foolishness ? Isn’t he giving me a hint? ‘ You’re going to 
Petersburg on purpose.’ The sly rogue. I’ve scarcely dreamed 
of it, and he guesses my dreams. As though he were putting 
me up to going himself. It’s one or the other of two games he’s 
up to. Hither he’s afraid because he’s been up to some pranks 
himself . . . or he’s not afraid for himself, but is simply egging 
me on to give them all away! Ach, it’s terrible, Lebyadkin ! 
Ach, you must not make a blunder ! ”’ 

He was so absorbed in thought that he forgot to listen. It 
was not easy to hear either. The door was a solid one, and they 
were talking in a very low voice. Nothing reached the captain 
but indistinct sounds. He positively spat in disgust, and went 
out again, lost in thought, to whistle on the steps. 


NIGHT 253 
Ill 


Marya Timofyevna’s' room was twice as large as the one 
occupied by the captain, and furnished in the same rough 
style; but the table in front of the sofa was covered with a 
gay-coloured table-cloth, and on it a lamp was burning. There 
was a handsome carpet on the floor. The bed was screened off 
by a green curtain, which ran the length of the room, and besides 
the sofa there stood by the table a large, soft easy chair, in 
which Marya Timofyevna never sat, however. In the corner 
there was an ikon as there had been in her old room, and a little 
lamp was burning before it, and on the table were all her indis- 
pensable properties. The pack of cards, the little looking-glass, 
the song-book, even a milk loaf. Besides these there were 
two books with coloured pictures—one, extracts from a popular 
book of travels, published for juvenile reading, the other a 
collection of very light, edifying tales, for the most part about 
the days of chivalry, intended for Christmas presents or school 
reading. She had, too, an album of photographs of various 
sorts. 

Marya Timofyevna was, of course, expecting the visitor, as the 
captain had announced. But when Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
went in, she was asleep, half reclining on the sofa, propped on 
a woolwork cushion. Her visitor closed the door after him noise- 
lessly, and, standing still, scrutinised the sleeping figure. 

The captain had been romancing when he told Nikolay Vsyevo- 
lodovitch she had been dressing herself up. She was wearing 
the same dark dress as on Sunday at Varvara Petrovna’s. Her 
hair was done up in the same little close knot at the back of her 
head; her long thin neck was exposed in the same way. The 
black shawl Varvara Petrovna had given her lay carefully folded 
on the sofa. She was coarsely rouged and powdered as before. 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch did not stand there more than a minute. 
She suddenly waked up, as though she were conscious of his eyes 
fixed upon her; she opened her eyes, and quickly drew herself 
up. But something strange must have happened to her visitor : 
he remained standing at the same place by the door. With a 
fixed and searching glance he looked mutely and persistently 
into her face. Perhaps that look was too grim, perhaps there 
was an expression of aversion in it, even a malignant enjoyment 
of her fright—if it were not a fancy left by her dreams; but 


254 THE POSSESSED 


suddenly, after almost a moment of expectation, the poor woman’s 
face wore a look of absolute terror; it twitched convulsively ; 
she lifted her trembling hands and suddenly burst into tears, 
exactly like a frightened child; in another moment she would 
have screamed. But Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch pulled himself 
together ; his face changed in one instant, and he went up to the 
table with the most cordial and amiable smile. 

‘“‘T'm sorry, Marya Timofyevna, I frightened you coming in 
suddenly when you were asleep,” he said, holding out his hand 
to her. 

The sound of his caressing words produced their effect. Her 
fear vanished, although she still looked at him with dismay, 
evidently trying to understand something. She held out her 
hands timorously also. At last a shy smile rose to her lips. 

‘““How do you do, prince ?”’ she whispered, looking at him 
strangely. 

‘You must have had a bad dream,’ he went on, with a still 
more friendly and cordial smile. 

‘“‘ But how do you know that I was dreaming about that?” 

And again she began trembling, and started back, putting up 
her hand as though to protect herself, on the point of crying again. 

“Calm yourself. That’s enough. What are you afraid of ? 
Surely you know me?” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, trying 
to soothe her; but it was long before he could succeed. She 
gazed at him dumbly with the same look of agonising perplexity, 
with a painful idea in her poor brain, and she still seemed to be 
trying to reach some conclusion. At one moment she dropped 
her eyes, then suddenly scrutinised him in a rapid comprehensive 
glance. At last, though not reassured, she seemed to come to a 
conclusion. 

‘* Sit down beside me, please, that I may look at you thoroughly 
later on,’ she brought out with more firmness, evidently with a 
new object. ‘‘ But don’t be uneasy, I won’t look at you now 
I’ll look down. Don’t you look at me either till I ask you to. 
Sit down,” she added, with positive impatience. 

A new sensation was obviously growing stronger and stronger 
in her. 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sat down and waited. Rather a 
long silence followed. 

‘““H’m! It all seems so strange to me,’ she suddenly muttered 
almost disdainfully. ‘‘ Of course I was depressed by bad dreams, 
but why have I dreamt of you looking like that ?”’ 


NIGHT 255 


“* Come, let’s have done with dreams,” he said impatiently, 
turning to her in spite of her prohibition, and perhaps the same 
expression gleamed for a moment in his eyes again. He saw that 
she several times wanted, very much in fact, to look at him 
again, but that she cbstinately controlled herself and kept her 
eyes cast down. 

‘“‘ Listen, prince,’ she raised her voice suddenly, “‘ listen 
DECHy." °° 

“Why do you turn away? Why don’t you look at 
me? What’s the object of this farce?” he cried, losing 
patience. 

But she seemed not to hear him. 

““ Listen, prince,” she repeated for the third time in a resolute 
voice, with a disagreeable, fussy expression. ‘‘ When you told 
me in the carriage that our marriage was going to be made 
public, I was alarmed at there being an end to the mystery. 
Now I don’t know. I’ve been thinking it all over, and I see 
clearly that I’m not fit for it at all. I know how to dress, and I 
could receive guests, perhaps. There’s nothing much in asking 
people to have a cupof tea, especially when there are footmen. 
But what will people say though? I saw a great deal that 
Sunday morning in that house. That pretty young lady looked 
at me all the time, especially after you came in. It was you 
came in, wasn’t it? Her mother’s simply an absurd worldly 
old woman. My Lebyadkin distinguished himself too. I kept 
looking at the ceiling to keep from laughing ; the ceiling there is 
finely painted. His mother ought to be an abbess. I’m afraid 
of her, though she did give me a black shawl. Of course, they 
must all have come to strange conclusions about me. I wasn’t 
vexed, but I sat there, thinking what relation am I to them ? 
Of course, from a countess one doesn’t expect any but spiritual 
qualities ; for the domestic ones she’s got plenty of footmen ; 
and also a little worldly coquetry, so as to be able to entertain 
foreign travellers. But yet that Sunday they did look upon me 
as hopeless. Only Dasha’sanangel. I’m awfully afraid they may 
wound him by some careless allusion to me.” 

‘“‘ Don’t be afraid, and don’t be uneasy,” said Nikolay Vsyevo- 
lodovitch, making a wry face. 

‘““ However, that doesn’t matter to me, if he is a little ashamed 
of me, for there will always be more pity than shame, though it 
differs with people, of course. He knows, to besure, that I ought 
rather to. pity them than they me.” 


256 THE POSSESSED 


“You seem to be very much offended with them, takes 
Timofyevna ? ” 

““T 2? Qh, no,” she smiled with simple-hearted mirth. “ Not 
at all. I looked at you ail, then. You were all angry, you were 
all quarrelling. They meet together, and they don’t know how 
to laugh from their hearts. So much wealth and so little gaiety. 
It all disgusts me. Though I feel for no one now except 
myself.”’ 

“T’ve heard that you’ve had a hard life with your brother 
without me ?” 

“Who told you that? It’s nonsense. It’s much worse 
now. Now my dreams are not good, and my dreams are bad, 
because you’ve come. What have you come for, I’d like to 
know. ‘Tell me please ?”’ 

‘“ Wouldn’t you like to go back into the nunnery ? ” 

‘“‘T knew they'd suggest the nunnery again. Your nunnery is 
a fine marvel for me! And why should I go to it? What 
should I go for now? Tm all alone in the world now. It’s too 
late for me to begin a third life.”’ 

“You seem very angry about something. Surely you're 
not afraid that I’ve left off loving you ?”’ 

“T’m not troubling about you at all. Um afraid that I may 
leave off loving somebody.”’ 

She laughed contemptuously. 

*“ [must have done him some great wrong,’ she added suddenly, 
as it were to herself, “‘ only I don’t know what I’ve done wrong ; 
that’s always what troubles me. Always, always, for the last 
five years. I’ve been afraid day and night that I’ve done him 
some wrong. I’ve prayed and prayed and always thought of 
the great wrong I’d done him. And now it turns out it was 
true.” 

‘“* What’s turned out ?” 

‘“T’m only afraid whether there’s something on his side,” 
she went on, not answering his question, not hearing it in fact. 
“And then, again, he couldn’t get on with such horrid people. 
The countess would have liked to eat me, though she did make 
me sit in the carriage beside her. They’re allin the plot. Surely 
he’s not betrayed me?” (Her chin and lips were twitching.) 
“Tell me, have you read about Grishka Otrepyev, how he was 
cursed in seven cathedrals ?”’ 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch did not speak. ; 

* But Pll turn round now ‘and look at you.’ She seemed to 


NIGHT 257 


decide suddenly. ‘‘ You turn to me, too, and look at me, but more 
attentively. I want to make sure for the last time.” 

““ ve been looking at you for a long time.” 

“H’m!” said Marya Timofyevna, looking at him intently. 
“You've grown much fatter.” 

She wanted to say something more, but suddenly, for the third 
time, the same terror instantly distorted her face, and again she 
drew back, putting her hand up before her. 

“ What’s the matter with you ?” cried Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
vitch, almost enraged. 

But her panic lasted only one instant, her face worked with a 
sort of strange smile, suspicious and unpleasant. 

“T beg you, prince, get up and come in,” she brought out 
suddenly, in a firm, emphatic voice. 

““Comein? Wheream[ tocome in?” 

*“‘T’ve been fancying for five years how he would comein. Get 
up and go out of the door into the other room. I'll sit as though 
I weren't expecting anything, and I’ll take up a book, and 
suddenly you’ll come in after five years’ travelling. I want to 
see what it will be like.” 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch ground his teeth, and muttered 
something to himself. 

‘** Enough,” he said, striking the table with his open hand. 
““T beg you to listen to me, Marya Timofyevna. Do me the 
favour to concentrate all your attention if you can. You're not 
altogether mad, you know!”’ he broke out impatiently. “‘ To- 
morrow I shall make our marriage public. You never will live 
in a palace, get that out of your head. Do you want to live 
with me for the rest of your life, only very far away from here ? 
In the mountains in Switzerland, there’s a place there. . . 
Don’t be afraid. Ill never abandon you or put you in a mad- 
house. I shall have money enough to live without asking 
anyone’s help. You shall have a servant, you shall do no work 
at all. Everything you want that’s possible shall be got for 
you. Youshall pray, go where you like, and do what youlike. I 
won’t touch you. I won’t go away from the place myself at all. 
If you like, I won’t speak to you all my life, or if you like, you 
can tell me your stories every evening as you used to do in 
Petersburg in the corners. Ill read aloud to you if you like. 
But it must be all your life in the same place, and that place is 
a gloomy one. Will you? Are youready? You won't regret 


it, torment me with tears and curses, will you ? ” 
R 


258 THE POSSESSED 


She listened with extreme curiosity, and for a long time she 
was silent, thinking. 

‘It all seems incredible to me,” she said at last, ronthatly 
and disdainfully. ‘‘I might live for forty years in those 
mountains,” she laughed. 

“What of it ? Let’s live forty years then . . .”’ said Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch, scowling. 

“'H’m! I won't come for anything.” 

** Not even with me ?”’ 

‘* And what are you that I should go with you? I’m to sit 
on a mountain beside him for forty years on end—a pretty story ! 
And upon my word, how long-suffering people have become nowa- 
days! No, it cannot be that a falcon has become an owl. 
My prince is not like that!” she said, raising her head proudly 
and triumphantly. 

Light seemed to dawn upon him. 

‘‘ What makes you call me a prince, and . . . for whom do 
you take me ?”’ he asked quickly. 

‘“‘ Why, aren’t you the prince ? ” 

‘“‘T never have been one.” 

‘“‘So yourself, yourself, you tell me straight to my face that 
you're not the prince ? ” 

‘TI tell you I never have been.” 

‘‘Good Lord !”’ she cried, clasping her hands. “I was ready 
to expect anything from his enemies, but such insolence, never ! 
Is he alive ?”’ she shrieked in a frenzy, turning upon Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch. “Have you killed him ? Confess!” 

“Whom do you take me for?” he cried, jumping up from 
his chair with a distorted face; but it was not easy now to 
frighten her. She was triumphant. 

“‘Who can tell who you are and where you’ve sprung from ? 
Only my heart, my heart had misgivings all these five years, of all 
the intrigues. And I’ve been sitting here wondering what 
blind owl was making up to me? No, my dear, you’re a poor 
actor, worse than Lebyadkin even. Give my humble greetings 
to the countess and tell her to send some one better than you. 
Has she hired you, tell me? Have they given you a place in 
her kitchen out of charity? I see through your deception. 
{understand you all, every one of you.” 

: He seized her firmly above the elbow; she laughed in his 
ace. 
“You're like him, very like, perhaps you’re a relation—you’re 


NIGHT 2 259 


a sly lot! Only mine is a bright falcon and a prince, and 
you're an owl, and a shopman !\ Mine will bow down to God if 
it pleases him, and won't if it doesn’t. And Shatushka (he’s my 
dear, my darling!) slapped you on the cheeks, my Lebyadkin 
told me. And what were you afraid of then, when you came in ? 
Who had frightened you then? When I saw your mean face 
after I'd fallen down and you picked me up—it was like a worm 
crawling into my heart. It’s not he, I thought, not he/ My 
falcon would never have been ashamed of me before a fashionable 
young lady. Ohheavens! That alone kept me happy for those 
five years that my falcon was living somewhere beyond the 
mountains, soaring, gazing at the sun... . Tell me, you 
impostor, have you got much by it ? Did you need a big bribe to 
consent ? I wouldn’t have given you a farthing. Ha ha ha! 
Hada? 40 3? 

~ “Ugh, idiot !”’ snarled Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, still holding 
her tight by the arm. 

““Go away, impostor!’ she shouted peremptorily. “‘?m 
the wife of my prince ; I’m not afraid of your knife ! ” 

“Knife !” 

“Yes, knife, you’ve a knife in your pocket. You thought 
I was asleep but I saw it. When you came in just now you took 
out your knife !”’ 

‘““ What are you saying, unhappy creature ? What dreams you 
have !”’ he exclaimed, pushing her away from him with all his 
might, so that her head and shoulders fell painfully against the 
sofa. He was rushing away; but she at once flew to overtake 
him, limping and hopping, and though Lebyadkin, panic-stricken, 
held her back with all his might, she succeeded in shouting after 
him into the darkness, shrieking and laughing : 

“A curse on you, Grishka Otrepyev!”’ 


IV 


“A knife, a knife,” he repeated with uncontrollable anger, 
striding along through the mud and puddles, without picking 
his way. It is true that at moments he had a terrible desire to 
laugh aloud frantically ; but for some reason he controlled himself 
and restrained his laughter. He recovered himself only on the 
bridge, en the spot where Fedka had met him that evening. He 
found the man lying in wait for him again. Seeing Nikolay 


260 THE POSSESSED 


Vsyevolodovitch he took off his cap, grinned gaily, and began 
babbling briskly and merrily about something. At first Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch walked on without stopping, and for some time 
did not even listen to the tramp who was pestering him again. 
He was suddenly struck by the thought that he had entirely 
forgotten him, and had forgotten him at the very moment 
when he himself was repeating, “‘ A knife, a knife.’ He seized 
the tramp by the collar and gave vent to his pent-up rage by 
flinging him violently against the bridge. For one instant the 
man thought of fighting, but almost at once realising that 
compared with his adversary, who had fallen upon him unawares, 
he was no better than a wisp of straw, he subsided and was silent, 
without offering any resistance. Crouching on the ground with his 
elbows crooked behind his back, the wily tramp calmly waited for 
what would happen next, apparently quite incredulous of danger. 

He was right in his reckoning. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
had already with his left hand taken off his thick scarf to tie his 
prisoner’s arms, but suddenly, for some reason, he abandoned 
him, and shoved him away. The man instantly sprang on to 
his feet, turned round, and a short, broad boot-knife suddenly 
gleamed in his hand. 3 

“Away with that knife; put it away, at once!” Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch commanded with an impatient gesture, and the 
knife vanished as instantaneously as it had appeared. ° 

Without speaking again or turning round, Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
dovitch went on his way. But the persistent vagabond did not 
leave him even now, though now, it is true, he did not chatter, 
and even respectfully kept his distance, a full step behind. 

They crossed the -ridge like this and came out on to the river 
bank, turning this time to the left, again into a long deserted 
back street, which led to the centre of the town by a shorter 
way than going through Bogoyavlensky Street. 

“Is it true, as they say, that you robbed a church in the 
district the other day?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked 
suddenly. 

“I went in to say my prayers in the first place,” the tramp 
answered, sedately and respectfully as though nothing had 
happened ; more than sedately, in fact, almost with dignity. 
There was no trace of his former “friendly ” familiarity. All 
that was to be seen was a serious, business-like man, who had 
indeed been gratuitously insulted, but who was capable of over- 
looking an insult. 


NIGHT 261 

“But when the Lord led me there,” he went on, “ech, I 
thought what a heavenly abundance! It was all owing to my 
helpless state, as in our way of life there’s no doing without 
assistance. And, now, God be my witness, sir, it was my own 
loss. The Lord punished me for my sins, and what with the 
censer and the deacon’s halter, I only got twelve roubles alto- 
gether. The chin setting of St. Nikolay of pure silver went for 
next to nothing. They said it was plated.” 

“You killed the watchman ?”’ 

“‘ That is, I cleared the place out together with that watchman, 
but afterwards, next morning, by the river, we fell to quarrelling 
which should carry the sack. I sinned, I did lighten his load for 
him,”’ . 

“* Well, you can rob and murder again.” 

“ That’s the very advice Pyotr Stepanovitch gives me, in the 
very same words, for he’s uncommonly mean and hard-hearted 
about helping a fellow-creature. And what’s more, he hasn’t a 
ha’porth of belief in the Heavenly Creator, who made us out of 
earthly clay ; but he says it’s all the work of nature even to the 
last beast. He doesn’t understand either that with our way of 
life it’s impossible for us to get along without friendly assistance. 
If you begin to talk to him he looks like a sheep at the water ; 
it makes one wonder. Would you believe, at Captain Lebyad- 
kin’s, out yonder, whom your honour’s just been visiting, when 
he was living at Filipov’s, before you came, the door stood open 
all night long. He’d be drunk and sleeping like the dead, and 
his money dropping out of his pockets all over the floor. Ive 
chanced to see it with my own eyes, for in our way of life it’s 
impossible to live without assistance. .. .” 

‘“‘ How do you mean with your own eyes ? Did you go in at 
night then ?” 

“‘ Maybe I did go in, but no one knows of it.” 

** Why didn’t you kill him ?” 

“Reckoning it out, I steadied myself. For once having 
learned for sure that I can always get one hundred and fifty 
roubles, why should I go so far when I can get fifteen hundred 
roubles if I only bide my time. For Captain Lebyadkin (I’ve 
heard him with my own ears) had great hopes of you when he 
was drunk; and there isn’t a tavern here—not the lowest 
pot- -house—where he hasn’t talked about it when he was in that 
state. So that hearing it from many lips, I began, too, to rest 
all my hopes on your excellency. I speak to you, sir, as to my 


262 THE POSSESSED 


father, or my own brother; for Pyotr Stepanovitch will never 
learn that from me, and not a soul in the world. So won’t 
your excellency spare me three roubles in your kindness? You 
might set my mind at rest, so that I might know the real truth ; 
for we can’t get on without assistance.” 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch laughed aloud, and taking out his 
purse, in which he had as much as fifty roubles, in small notes, 
threw him one note out of the bundle, then a second, a third, a 
fourth. Fedka flew to catch them in the air. The notes dropped 
into the mud, and he snatched them up crying, “‘ Ech! ech!” 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch finished by flinging the whole bundle 
at him, and, still laughing, went on down the street, this time alone. 
The tramp remained crawling on his knees in the mud, looking 
for the notes which were blown about by the wind and soaking 
in the puddles, and for an hour after his spasmodic cries of 
“ch ! ech!” were still to be heard in the darkness. 


CHAPTER III 
THE DUEL 
I 


THE next day, at two o’clock in the afternoon, the duel took place 
as arranged. Things were hastened forward by Gaganov’s 
obstinate desire to fight at all costs. He did not understand his 
adversary ’s conduct, and was ina fury. For a whole month he 
had been insulting him with impunity, and had so far been 
unable to make him lose patience. What he wanted was a 
challenge on the part of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, as he had 
not himself any direct pretext for challenging him. His secret 
motive for it, that is, his almost morbid hatred of Stavrogin 
for the insult to his family four years before, he was for some 
reason ashamed to confess. And indeed he regarded this himself 
as an impossible pretext for a challenge, especially in view of 
the humble apology offered by Nikolay Stavrogin twice already. 
He privately made up his mind that Stavrogin was a shameless 
coward ; and could not understand how he could have accepted 
Shatov’s blow. So he made up his mind at last to send him 
the extraordinarily rude letter that had finally roused Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch himself to propose a meeting. Having dis- 
patched this letter the day before, he awaited a challenge with. 
feverish impatience, and while morbidly reckoning the chances. 
at one moment with hope and at the next with despair, he got 
ready for any emergency by securing a second, to wit, Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch Drozdov, who was a friend of his, an old schoolfellow, 
a man for whom he had a great respect. So when Kirillov came 
next morning at nine o’clock with his message he found things in 
readiness. All the apologies and unheard-of condescension of 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch were at once, at the first word, rejected 
with extraordinary exasperation. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who 
had only been made acquainted with the position of affairs the 
evening before, opened his mouth with surprise at such incredible 
concessions, and would have urged a reconciliation, but seeing 
that Gaganov, guessing his intention, was almost trembling 
in his chair, refrained, and said nothing. If it had not been 


for the promise given to his old schoolfellow he would have 
263 


264 THE POSSESSED 


retired immediately ; he only remained in the hope of being 
some help on the scene of action. Kirillov repeated the challenge. 
All the conditions of the encounter made by Stavrogin were 
accepted on the spot, without the faintest objection. Only 
one addition was made, and that a ferocious one. If the 
first shots had no decisive effect, they were to fire azain, and if 
the second encounter were inconclusive, it was to be followed 
by a third. Kirillov frowned, objected to the third encounter, 
but gaining nothing by his efforts agreed on the condition, 
however, that three should be the limit, and that “a fourth 
encounter was out of the question.” This was conceded. 
Accordingly at two o’clock in the afternoon the meeting took 
place at Brykov, that is, in a little copse in the outskirts of 
the town, lying between Skvoreshniki and the Shpigulin factory. 
The rain of the previous night was over, but it was damp, grey, 
and windy. Low, ragged, dingy clouds moved rapidly across 
the cold sky. The tree-tops roared with a deep droning sound, 
and creaked on their roots; it was a melancholy morning, 
Mavriky Nikolaevitch and Gaganov arrived on the spot in a 
smart char-a-bane with a pair of horses driven by the latter. They 
were accompanied by a groom. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch and 
Kirillov arrived almost at the same instant. They were not 
driving, they were on horseback, and were also followed by a 
mounted servant. Kirillov, who had never mounted a horse 
before, sat up boldly, erect in the saddle, grasping in his right 
hand the heavy box of pistols which he would not entrust to 
the servant. In his inexperience he was continually with his 
left hand tugging at the reins, which made the horse toss his 
head and show an inclination to rear. This, however, seemed to 
cause his rider no uneasiness. Gaganov, who was morbidly 
suspicious and always ready to be deeply offended, considered 
their coming on horseback as a fresh insult to himself, inasmuch 
as it showed that his opponents were too confident of success, since 
they had not even thought it necessary to have a carriage in 
case of being wounded and disabled. He got out of his char-a- 
bane, yellow with anger, and felt that his hands were trembling; 
as he told Mavriky } Nikolaevitch. He made no response at all to 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s bow, and turned away. The seconds 
cast lots. The lot fell on Kirillov’s pistols. They measured 
out the barrier and placed the combatants. The servants 
with the carriage and horses were moved back three hundred 
paces. The weapons were loaded and handed to the combatants. 


THE DUEL 265 


I’m sorry that I have to tell my story more quickly and have 
no time for descriptions. But I can’t refrain from some com- 
ments. Mavriky Nikolaevitch was melancholy and preoccupied. 
Kirillov, on the other hand, was perfectly calm and unconcerned, 
very exact over the details of the duties he had undertaken, but 
without the slightest fussiness or even curiosity as to the issue 
of the fateful contest that was so near at hand. Nikolay Vsye- 
volodovitch was paler than usual. He was rather lightly 
dressed in an overcoat and a white beaver hat. He seemed 
very tired, he frowned from time to time, and seemed to feel it 
superfluous to conceal his ill-humour. But Gaganov was at 
this moment more worthy of mention than anyone, so that it 
is quite impossible not to say a few words about him in par- 
ticular. 


II 


I have hitherto not had occasion to describe his appearance. 
He was a tall man of thirty-three, and well fed, as the common 
folk express it, almost fat, with lank flaxen hair, and with features 
which might be called handsome. He had retired from the service 

with the rank of colonel, and if he had served till he reached the 

rank of general he would have been even more impressive in 
that position, and would very likely have become an excellent 
fighting general. 

I must add, as characteristic of the man, that the chief cause 
of his leaving the army was the thought of the family disgrace 
which had haunted him so painfully since the insult paid to his 
father by Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch four years before at the 
club. He conscientiously considered it dishonourable to remain 
in the service, and was inwardly persuaded that he was con- 
taminating the regiment and his companions, although they 
knew nothing of the incident. It’s true that he had once before 
been disposed to leave the army long before the insult to his 
father, and on quite other grounds, but he had hesitated. Strange 
as it is to write, the original design, or rather desire, to leave the 
army was due to the proclamation of the 19th of February of 
the emancipation of the serfs. Gaganov, who was one of the 
richest landowners in the province, and who had not lost very 
much by the emancipation, and was, moreover, quite capable of 
understanding the humanity of the reform and its econcmic 
advantages, suddenly felt himself personally insulted by the 


266 THE POSSESSED 


proclamation. It was something unconscious, a feeling; but 
was all the stronger for being unrecognised. He could not 
bring himself, however, to take any decisive step till his father’s 
death. But he began to be well known for his “ gentlemanly ” 
ideas to many persons of high position in Petersburg, with whom 
he strenuously kept up connections. He was secretive and self- 
contained. Another characteristic : he belonged to that strange 
section of the nobility, still surviving in Russia, who set an extreme 
value on their pure and ancient lineage, and take it too seriously. 
At the same time he could not endure Russian history, and, 
indeed, looked upon Russian customs in general as more or less 
piggish. Even in his childhood, in the special military school for 
the sons of particularly wealthy and distinguished families 
in which he had the privilege of being educated, from first to 
last certain poetic notions were deeply rooted in his mind. He 
loved castles, chivalry ; all the theatrical part of it. He was ready 
to cry with shame that in the days of the Moscow Tsars the sove- 
reign had the right to inflict corporal punishment on the Russian 
boyars, and blushed at the contrast. This stiff and extremely 
severe man, who had a remarkable knowledge of military science 
and performed his duties admirably, was at heart a dreamer. 
It was said that he could speak at meetings and had the gift 
of language, but at no time during the thirty-three years of his 
life had he spoken. Even in the distinguished circles in Peters- 
burg, in which he had moved of late, he behaved with extra- 
ordinary haughtiness.. His meeting in Petersburg with Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch, who had just returned from abroad, almost 
sent him out of his mind. At the present moment, standing 
at the barrier, he was terribly uneasy. He kept imagining 
that the duel would somehow not come off; the least delay 
threw him into a tremor. There was an expression of anguish 
in his face when Kirillov, instead of giving the signal for them to 
fire, began suddenly speaking, only for form, indeed, as he 
himself explained aloud. 

“Simply as a formality, now that you have the pistols in your 
hands, and I must give the signal, I ask you for the last time, 
will you not be reconciled ? It’s the duty of a second.” 

As though to spite him, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who had till 
then kept silence, although he had been reproaching himself 
all day for his compliance and acquiescence, suddenly caught 
up Kirillov’s thought and began to speak : 

“T entirely agree with Mr. Kirillov’s words. . . . This idea 


THE DUEL 267 


that reconciliation is impossible at the barrier is a prejudice, 
only suitable for Frenchmen. Besides, with your leave, I don’t 
understand what the offence is. I’ve been wanting to say so for 
a long time . . . because every apology is offered, isn’t it ?”’ 

He flushed all over. He had rarely spoken so much, and with 
such excitement. 

“I repeat again my offer to make every possible apology,” 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch interposed hurriedly. 

“This is impossible,” shouted Gaganov furiously, addressing 
Mavriky Nikolaevitch, and stamping with rage. ‘“‘ Explain to 
this man,” he pointed with his pistol at Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, 
“if you’re my second and not my enemy, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, 
that such overtures only aggravate the insult. He feels it 


impossible to be insulted by me! ... He feels it no disgrace 
to walk away from me at the barrier! What does he take me 
for, after that, do you think? . . . And you, you, my second, 


too! You’re simply irritating me that I may miss.” 

He stamped again. There were flecks of foam on his lips. 

““ Negotiations are over. I beg you to listen to the signal !”’ 
Kirillov shouted at the top of his voice. “One! Two! 
Three !” 

At the word “‘Three”’ the combatants took aim at one another. 
Gaganov at once raised his pistol, and at the fifth or sixth 
step he fired. For a second he stood still, and, making sure 
that he had missed, advanced to the barrier. Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
dovitch advanced too, raising his pistol, but somehow holding 
it very high, and fired, almost without taking aim. Then he 
took out his handkerchief and bound it round the little finger 
of his right hand. Only then they saw that Gaganov had not 
missed him completely, but the bullet had only grazed the fleshy 
part of his finger without touching the bone ; it was only a slight 
scratch. Kirillov at once announced that the duel would go on, 
unless the combatants were satisfied. 

“‘T declare,’ said Gaganov hoarsely (his throat felt parched), 
again addressing Mavriky Nikolaevitch, ‘“ that this man,’’ again 
he pointed in Stavrogin’s direction, “‘ fired in the air on purpose 

. intentionally. ... This is an insult again.... He 
wants to make the duel impossible ! ”’ 

‘‘T have the right to fire as I like so long as I keep the rules,” 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asserted resolutely. 

‘“No, he hasn’t! Explain it to him! Explain it!” cried 
Gaganov. 


268 THE POSSESSED 


‘I’m in complete agreement with Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch,”’ 
proclaimed Kirillov. 

‘““ Why does he spare me ?”’ Gaganov taped; not hearing him. 
“I despise his mercy. . I spit on it. Li 

“I give you my word that I did not intend to insult you,” 
cried Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch impatiently. “I shot high 
because I don’t want to kill anyone else, either you or anyone 
else. It’s nothing to do with you personally. It’s true that I 
don’t consider myself insulted, and I’m sorry that angers you. 
But I don’t allow any one to interfere with my rights.” 

‘Tf he’s so afraid of bloodshed, ask him why he challenged 
me,” yelled Gaganov, still addressing Mavriky Nikolaevitch. 

“How could he help challenging you ?”’ said Kirillov, inter- 
vening. ‘‘ You wouldn’t listen to anything. How was one to 
get rid of you ?”’ 

“Tl only mention one thing,’’ observed Mavriky Nikolae- 
vitch, pondering the matter with painful effort. “If a combatant 
declares beforehand that he will fire in the air the duel certainly 
cannot go on... for obvious and . . .. delicate reasons,” — 

‘TI haven’t declared that I'll fire in the air every time,” cried 
Stavrogin, losing all patience. ‘‘ You don’t know what’s in my 
mind or how I intend to fire again. . .. I’m not restricting 
the duel at all.” 

‘In that case the encounter can go on,” said Mavriky Nikolae- 
vitch to Gaganov. 

‘Gentlemen, take your places,’ Kirillov commanded. 

Again they advanced, again Gaganov missed and Stavrogin 
fired into the air. There might have been a dispute as to his 
firing into the air. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch might have 
flatly declared that he’d fired properly, if he had not admitted 
that he had missed intentionally. He did not aim straight at 
the sky or at the trees, but seemed to aim at his adversary, 
though as he pointed the pistol the bullet flew a yard above his 
hat. The second time the shot was even lower, even less like 
an intentional miss. Nothing would have convinced Gaganov 
now. 

*“ Again!’ he muttered, grinding his teeth. ‘“‘No matter! 
I’ve been challenged and I’ll make use of my rights. I'll fire a 
third time . . . whatever happens.”’ 

‘’ You have full right to do so,”’ Kirillov rapped out. Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch said nothing. The opponents were placed a 
third time, the signal was given. This time Gaganov went right 


THE DUEL 269 


up to the barrier, and began from there taking aim, at a distance 
of twelve paces. His hand was trembling too much to take 
good aim. Stavrogin stood with his pistol lowered and awaited 
his shot without moving. 

“Too long ; you’ve been aiming too long!” Kirillov shouted 
impetuously. “Fire! Fire!” 

But the shot rang out, and this time Stavrogin’s white beaver 
hat flew off. The aim had been fairly correct. The crown 
of the hat was pierced very low down; a quarter of an inch 
lower and all would have been over. Kirillov picked up the 
hat and handed it to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. 

“Fire; don’t detain your adversary!’ cried Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch in extreme agitation, seeing that Stavrogin seemed 
to have forgotten to fire, and was examining the hat with Kirillov. 
Stavrogin started, looked at Gaganov, turned round and this 
time, without the slightest regard for punctilio, fired to one side, 
into the copse. The duel was over. Gaganov stood as though 
overwhelmed. Mavriky Nikolaevitch went up and began saying 
something to him, but he did not seem to understand. Kirillov 
took off his hat as he went away, and nodded to Mavriky Nikolae- 
vitch. But Stavrogin forgot his former politeness. When he 
had shot into the copse he did not even turn towards the barrier. 
He handed his pistol to Kirillov and hastened towards the horses. 
His face looked angry; he did not speak. Kirillov, too, was 
silent. They got on their horses and set off at a gallop. 


Iil 


“Why don’t you speak ?”’ he called impatiently to Kirillov, 
when they were not far from home. 

‘What do you want ?”’ replied the latter, almost slipping off 
his horse, which was rearing. 

Stavrogin restrained himself. 

**T didn’t mean to insult that ... fool, and I’ve insulted 
him again,” he said quietly. 

‘Yes, you’ve insulted him again,” Kirillov jerked cut, “and 
besides, he’s not a fool.” 

“ T’ve done all I can, anyway.” 

6é No.”’ 

‘‘ What ought I to have done ? ” 

“Not have challenged him.” 


270 THE POSSESSED 


‘“* Accept another blow in the face ? ”’ 

““ Yes, accept another.” 3 

“IT can’t understand anything now,” said Stavrogin wrath- 
fully. ‘‘Why does every one expect of me something not 
expected from anyone else? Why am I to put up with what 
no one else puts up with, and undertake burdens no one else can 
bear ?” 

‘‘ T thought you were seeking a burden yourself.” 

‘“‘T seek a burden ?” 


3 


(a9 Yes.”’ 

*“You’ve ... seen that 2” 
** Yes.” 

** Is it so noticeable 2? ”’ 

ce Yes.”’ 


There was silence for a moment. Stavrogin had a very 
preoccupied face. He was almost impressed. 

‘““T didn’t aim because I didn’t want to kill anyone. There 
was nothing more init, I assure you,”’ he said hurriedly, and with 
agitation, as though justifying himself. 

‘““ You ought not to have offended him.” 

‘“‘ What ought I to have done then ? ”’ 

‘“* You ought to have killed him.”’ 

‘* Are you sorry I didn’t kill him ?” 

‘““[Tm not sorry for anything. I thought you really meant 
to kill him. You don’t know what you're seeking.”’ 

“‘T seek a burden,” laughed Stavrogin. 

“Tf you didn’t want blood yourself, why did you give him a 
chance to kill you ?”’ 

“Tf I hadn’t challenged him, he’d have killed me simply, 
without a duel.”’ 

‘“That’s not your affair. Perhaps he wouldn’t have killed 

Oud 

‘Only have beaten me ? ” 

‘“That’s not your business. Bear your burden. Or else 
there’s no merit.” 

‘““Hang your merit. I don’t seek anyone’s approbation.” 

“T thought you were seeking it,’ Kirillov commented with 
terrible unconcern. 

They rode into the courtyard of the house. 

““ Do you care to come in ?”’ said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. 

“No; I’m going home. Good-bye.” . 

He got off the horse and took his box of pistols under his arm. 


THE DUEL | 271 

“ Anyway, you're not angry with me?” said Stavrogin, 
holding out his hand to him. 

‘‘ Not in the least,” said Kirillov, turning round to shake hands 
with him. ‘If my burden’s light it’s because it’s from nature ; 
perhaps your burden’s heavier because that’s your nature. 
There’s no need to be much ashamed ; only a little.” 

*“T know I’m a worthless character, and I don’t pretend to be 
a strong one.” 

‘You'd better not; you're not a strong person. Come and 
have tea.”’ 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went into the house, greatly 
perturbed. 


IV 


He learned at once from Alexey Yegorytch that Varvara 
Petrovna had been very glad to hear that Nikolay Vsyevolodo- 
vitch had gone out for a ride—the first time he had left the 
house after eight days’ illness. She had ordered the carriage, 
and had driven out alone for a breath of fresh air “ according to 
the habit of the past, as she had forgotten for the last eight days 
what it meant to breathe fresh air.” 

*“« Alone, or with Darya Pavlovna ?’’ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
interrupted the old man with a rapid question, and he scowled 
when he heard that Darya Pavlovna “ had declined to go abroad 
on account of indisposition and was in her rooms.”’ 

‘“‘ Listen, old man,” he said, as though suddenly making up 
his mind. “‘ Keep watch over her all to-day, and if you notice 
her coming to me, stop her at once, and tell her that I can’t see 
her for a few days at least... that I ask her not to come 
myself. ... I'll let her know myself, when the time comes. 
Do you hear ?” 

‘“‘ T’ll tell her, sir,” said Alexey Yegorytch, with distress in his 
voice, dropping his eyes. 

‘Not till you see clearly she’s meaning to come and see me of 
herself, though.”’ 

“Don’t be afraid, sir, there shall be no mistake. Your 
interviews have all passed through me, hitherto. You’ve alneys 
turned to me for help.” 

“TI know. Not till she comes of herself, anyway. Bring me 
some tea, if you can, at once.’ 

The old man had hardly gone out, when almost at the same 


272 THE POSSESSED 


instant the door reopened, and Darya Pavlovna appeared in the 
doorway. Her eyes were tranquil, though her face was pale. 

‘“‘ Where have you come from ?”’ exclaimed Stavrogin. 

“‘T was standing there, and waiting for him to go out, to come 
in to you. I heard the order you gave him, and when he came 
out just now I hid round the corner, on the right, and he didn’t 
notice me.” 

‘“T’ve long meant to break off with you, Dasha... for a 
while . . . for the present. I couldn’t see you last night, in 
spite of your note. I meant to write to you myself, but I don’t 
know how to write,’ he added with vexation, almost as though 
with disgust. 

“T thought myself that we must break it off. Varvara 

‘Petrovna is too suspicious of our relations.” 

** Well, let her be.”’ 

“She mustn’t be worried. So now we part till the end 
comes.” 

“* You still insist on expecting the end ?” 

** Yes, I’m sure of it.” 

** But nothing in the world ever has an end.” 

**This will have an end. Then call me. Ill come. Now, 
good-bye.” | 

‘“‘ And what sort of end will it be ?”’ smiled Nikolay Vsyevo- 
lodovitch. 

‘* You’re not wounded, and. . . have not shed blood ?’”’ she 
asked, not answering his question. 

‘Tt was stupid. I didn’t kill anyone. Don’t be uneasy. 
However, you'll hear all about it to-day from every one. I’m 
not quite well.” | 

“T’m going. The announcement of the marriage won’t be 
to-day ?”’ she added irresolutely. 

‘Tt won’t be to-day, and it won’t be to-morrow. I can’t say 
about the day after to-morrow. Perhaps we shall all be dead, 
and so much the better. Leave me alone, leave me alone, do.” 

“You won’t ruin that other . . . mad girl?” 

**T won’t ruin either of the mad creatures. It seems to be 
the sane I’m ruining. I’m so vile and loathsome, Dasha, that 
I might really send for you, “ at the latter end,’ as you say. And 
in spite of your sanity you'll come. Why will you be your 
own ruin ?”’ 

*“*T know that at the end I shall be the only one left you, and 

. [’m waiting for that.” . 


THE DUEL 273 


“And what if I don’t send for you after all, but run away 
from you ?”’ 

“That can’t be. You will send for me.” 

*“‘ There’s a great deal of contempt for me in that.” 

“You know that there’s not only contempt.”’ 

“Then there is contempt, anyway ?”’ 

“Tused the wrong word. God is my witness, it’s my greatest 
wish that you may never have need of me.” 

“One phrase is as good as another. I should also have wished 
not to have ruined you.” 

“You can never, anyhow, be my ruin; and you know that 
yourself, better than anyone,’ Darya Pavlovna said, rapidly 
and resolutely. “If I don’t come to you I shall be a sister of 
mercy, a nurse, shall wait upon the sick, or go selling the gospel. 
I’ve made up my mind to that. I cannot be anyone’s wife, 
I can’t live in a house like this, either. That’s not what I want. 
. . . You know all that.” 

“Wo, I never could tell what you want. It seems to me 
that you’re interested in me, as some veteran nurses get specially 
interested in some particular invalid in comparison with the 
others, or still more, like some pious old women who frequent 
funerals and find. one corpse more attractive than another. 
Why do you look at me so strangely ?”’ 

** Are you very ill?” she asked sympathetically, looking at 
him in a peculiar way. “Good heavens! And this man wants 
to do without me !”’ 

“Listen, Dasha, now I’m always seeing phantoms. One 
devil offered me yesterday, on the bridge, to murder Lebyadkin 
and Marya Timofyevna, to settle the marriage difficulty, and 
to cover up all traces. He asked me to give him three roubles 
on account, but gave me to understand that the whole operation 
wouldn’t cost less than fifteen hundred. Wasn’t he a calculating 
devil! Aregular shopkeeper. Haha!” 

“ But you’re fully convinced that it was an hallucination ¢ ” 

“Oh, no; not a bit an hallucination! It was simply Fedka 
the convict, the robber who escaped from prison. But that’s not 
the point. What do you suppose I did? I gave him all I had, 
everything in my purse, and now he’s sure I’ve given him that on 
account ! ”’ 

“You met him at night, and he made such a suggestion ? 
Surely you must see that you’re being caught in their nets on 
every side!” 

8 


274 THE POSSESSED 


‘‘ Well, let them be. But you’ve got some question at the 
tip of your tongue, you know. I see it by your eyes,” he added 
with a resentful and irritable smile. 

Dasha was frightened. 

““T’ve no question at all, and no doubt whatever; you'd 
better be quiet!” she cried in dismay, as though waving off 
his question. 

‘hen you’re convinced that I won’t go to Fedka’s little 
shop 2” 

“Oh, God!” she cried, clasping her hands. “Why do you 
torture me like this ? ”’ 

‘‘ Oh, forgive me my stupid joke. I must be picking up bad 
manners from them. Do you know, ever since last night I feel 
awfully inclined to laugh, to go on laughing continually for 
ever so long. It’s as though I must explode with laughter. It’s 
like an illness. ... Oh! my mother’s coming in. I always 
know by the rumble when her carriage has stopped at the 
entrance.”’ 

Dasha seized his hand. 

‘“‘God save you from your demon, and .. . call me, call me 
quickly !”’ 

“Oh! a fine demon! It’s simply a little nasty, scrofulous 
imp, with a cold in his head, one of the unsuccessful ones. But 
you have something you don’t dare to say again, Dasha ?”’ 

She looked at him with pain and reproach, and turned towards 
the door. 

“Listen,” he called after her, with a malignant and distorted 
smile. “If... Yes, if, in one word, if . . . you understand, 
even if I did go to that little shop, and if I called you after that— 
would you come then ? ” 

She went out, hiding her face in her hands, and neither turning 
nor answering, 

“She will come even after the shop,” he whispered, thinking 
a moment, and an expression of scornful disdain came into his 
face. “A nurse! H’m!... but perhaps that’s what I 
want.” 


CHAPTER IV 
ALL IN EXPECTATION 
I 


The impression made on the whole-neighbourhood by the story of 
the duel, which was rapidly noised abroad, was. particularly 
remarkable from the unanimity with which every one hastened 
to take up the cudgels for Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. Many of his 
former enemies declared themselves his friends. The chief 
reason for this change of front in public opinion was chiefly 
due to one person, who had hitherto not expressed her opinion, 
but who now very distinctly uttered a few words, which at 
once gave the event a significance exceedingly interesting to the 
vast majority. This was how it happened. On the day after 
the duel, all the town was assembled at. the Marshal of Nobility’s 
in honour of his wife’s nameday. Yulia Mihailovna was present, 
or, rather, presided, accompanied by Lizaveta Nikolaevna, 
radiant with beauty and peculiar gaiety, which struck many of our 
ladies at once as particularly suspicious at this time. And I may 
mention, by the way, her engagement to Mavriky Nikolaevitch 
was by now an established fact. To a playful question from 
a retired general of much consequence, of whom we shall have 
more to say later, Lizaveta Nikolaevna frankly replied that 
evening that she was engaged. And only imagine, not one of 
our ladies would believe in her engagement. They all persisted 
in assuming a romance of some sort, some fatal family secret, 
something that had happened in Switzerland, and for some 
reason imagined that Yulia Mihailovna must have had some hand 
init. It was difficult to understand why these rumours, or rather 
fancies, persisted so obstinately, and why Yulia Mihailovna was 
so positively connected with it. As soon as she came in, all 
turned to her with strange looks, brimful of expectation. It 
must be observed that owing to the freshness of the event, and 
certain circumstances accompanying it, at the party people talked 
of it with some circumspection, in undertones. Besides, nothing 
yet was known of the line taken by the authorities. As far as 
was known, neither of the combatants had been troubled by the 


police. Every one knew, for instance, that Gaganov had set 
275 


276 THE POSSESSED 


off home early in the morning to Duhovo, without being hindered. 
Meanwhile, of course, all were eager for some one to be the first 
to speak of it aloud, and so to open the door to the general 
impatience. They rested their hopes on the general above- 
mentioned, and they were not disappointed. 

This general, a landowner, though not a wealthy one, was one 
of the most imposing members of our club, and a man of an 
absolutely unique turn of mind. He flirted in the old-fashioned 
way with the young ladies, and was particularly fond, in large 
assemblies, of speaking aloud with all the weightiness of a 
general, on subjects to which others were alluding in discreet 
whispers. This was, so to say, his special réle in local society. 
He drawled, too, and spoke with peculiar suavity, probably 
having picked up the habit from Russians travelling abroad, 
or from those wealthy landowners of former days who had 
suffered most from the emancipation. Stepan Trofimovitch had 
observed that the more completely a landowner was ruined, the 
more suavely he lisped and drawled his words. He did, as a fact, 
lisp and drawl himself, but was not aware of it in himself. 

The general spoke like a person of authority. He was, besides, 
a distant relation of Gaganov’s, though he was on bad terms 
with him, and even engaged in litigation with him. He had, 
moreover, in the past, fought two duels himself, and had even 
been degraded to the ranks and sent to the Caucasus on account 
of one of them. Some mention was made of Varvara Petrovna’s 
having driven out that day and the day before, after being kept 
indoors “ by illness,” though the allusion was not to her, but to 
the marvellous matching of her four grey horses of the Stavrogins’ 
own breeding. The general suddenly observed that he had met 
“young Stavrogin”’ that day, on horseback. ... Every one 
was instantly silent. The general munched his lips, and suddenly 
proclaimed, twisting in his fingers his presentation gold snuff-box. 

“‘T’m sorry I wasn’t here some years ago . . . I mean when I 
was at Carlsbad ...H’m! I’m very much interested in that 
young man about whom [ heard so many rumours at that time. 
H’m! And, I say, is it true that he’s mad? Some one told 
me so then. Suddenly I’m told that he has been insulted by 
some student here, in the presence of his cousins, and he slipped 
under the table to get away from him. And yesterday I heard 
from Stepan Vysotsky that Stavrogin had been fighting with 
Gaganov. And simply with the gallant object of offering himself — 
as a target to an infuriated man, just to get ridof him. H’m! 








ALL IN EXPECTATION 277 


Quite in the style of the guards of the twenties. Is there any 
house where he visits here ? ”’ 

The general paused as though expecting an answer. A way 
had been opened for the public impatience to express 
itself. 

‘What could be simpler ?”’ cried Yulia Mihailovna, raising 
her voice, irritated that all present had turned their eyes upon 
her, as though at a word of command. “ Can one wonder that 
Stavrogin fought Gaganov and took no notice of the student ? 
He couldn’t challenge a man who used to be his serf ! ” 

A noteworthy saying! A clear and simple notion, yet it 
had entered nobody’s head till that moment. It was a saying 
that had extraordinary consequences. All scandal and gossip, 
all the petty tittle-tattle was thrown into the background, 
another significance had been detected. A new character was 
revealed whom all had misjudged; a character, almost ideally 
severe in his standards. Mortally insulted by a student, that is, 
an educated man, no longer a serf, he despised the affront because, 
his assailant had once been his serf. Society had gossiped and. 
slandered him ; shallow-minded people had looked with contempt 
on a man who had been struck in the face. He had despised a 
public opinion, which had not risen to the level of the highest 
standards, though it discussed them. 

“And, meantime, you and I, Ivan Alexandrovitch, sit and 
discuss the correct standards,’’ one old club member observed to 
another, with a warm and generous glow of self-reproach. 

“Yes, Pyotr Mihailovitch, yes,’ the other chimed in with zest, 
“‘ talk of the younger generation ! ”’ 

“It’s not a question of the younger generation,’’ observed a 
third, putting in his spoke, “it’s nothing to do with the younger 
generation ; he’s a star, not one of the younger generation ; that’s 
the way to look at it.” 

‘* And it’s just that sort we need ; they’re rare people.”’ 

The chief point in all this was that the “new man,’’ besides 
showing himself an unmistakable nobleman, was the wealthiest 
landowner in the province, and was, therefore, bound to be a 
leading man who could be of assistance. I’ve already alluded 
_ in passing to the attitude of the landowners of our province. 

People were enthusiastic : 

‘“‘ He didn’t merely refrain from challenging the student. He 
put his hands behind him, note that particularly, your 
excellency,” somebody pointed out. | 


9 


278 THE POSSESSED 


‘‘ And he didn’t haul him up before the new law-courts, 
either,’ added another. 

‘‘ In spite of the fact that for a personal insult to a nobleman 
he’d have got fifteen roubles damages! He he he!” | 

“No, I’ll tell you a secret about the new courts,” cried a third, 
in a frenzy of excitement, “if anyone’s caught robbing or 
swindling and convicted, he’d better run home while there’s yet 
time, and murder his mother. He’ll be acquitted of everything 
at once, and ladies will wave their batiste handkerchiefs from 
the platform. It’s the absolute truth !”’ 

“It’s the truth. It’s the truth!” 

The inevitable anecdotes followed: Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s 
friendly relations with Count K. were recalled. Count K.’s 
stern and independent attitude to recent reforms was well known, 
as well as his remarkable public activity, though that had some- 
what fallen off of late. And now, suddenly, every one was 
positive that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was betrothed to one of the 
-count’s daughters, though nothing had given grounds for such 
-a& supposition. And as for some wonderful adventures in 
‘Switzerland with Lizaveta Nikolaevna, even the ladies quite 
dropped all reference to it. I must mention, by the way, that the 
Drozdovs had by this time succeeded in paying all the visits 
they had omitted at first. Every one now confidently considered 
Lizaveta Nikolaevna a most ordinary girl, who paraded her 
delicate nerves. Her fainting on the day of Nikolay Vsyevo- 
lodovitch’s arrival was explained now as due to her terror at the 
student’s outrageous behaviour. They even increased the 
prosaicness of that to which before they had striven to give such 
a fantastic colour. As for a lame woman who had been talked 
of,- she was forgotten completely. They were ashamed to 
remember her. 

‘* And if there had been a hundred lame girls—we’ve all been 
young once!” 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s respectfulness to his mother was 
enlarged upon. Various virtues were discovered in him. People 
talked with approbation of the learning he had acquired in the 
four years he had spent in German universities. Gaganov’s 
conduct was declared utterly tactless : ‘‘ not knowing friend from 
foe.” Yulia Mihailovna’s keen insight was unhesitatingly 
admitted. 

So by the time Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch made his appearance 
among them he was received by every one with naive solemnity. 


ALL IN EXPECTATION 279 


In all eyes fastened upon him could be read eager anticipation. 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch at once wrapped himself in the most 
austere silence, which, of course, gratified every one much more 
than if he had talked till doomsday. Ina word, he was a success, 
he was thefashion. If once one has figured in provincial society, 
there’s no retreating into the background. Nikolay Vsyevolo- 
dovitch began to fulfil all his social duties in the province 
punctiliously as before. He was not found cheerful company : 
‘*a man who has seen suffering ; a man not like other people ; 
he has something to be melancholy about.’’ Even the pride and 
disdainful aloofness for which he had been so detested four years 
before was now liked and respected. 

Varvara Petrovna was triumphant. I don’t know whether she 
grieved much over the shattering of her dreams concerning 
Lizaveta Nikolaevna. Family pride, of course, helped her to 
get over it. One thing was strange: Varvara Petrovna was 
suddenly convinced that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch really had 
*“ made his choice’ at Count K.’s. And what was strangest of 
all, she was led to believe it by rumours which reached her on 
no better authority than other people. She was afraid to, ask 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch a direct question. Two or three times, 
however, she could not refrain from slyly and good-humouredly 
reproaching him for not being open with her. Nikolay Vsyevo- 
lodovitch smiled. and remained silent. The silence was taken 
as a sign of assent. And yet, all the time she never forgot the 
cripple. The thought of her lay like a stone on her heart, a 
nightmare, she was tortured by strange misgivings and surmises, 
and all this at the same time as she dreamed of Count K.’s 
daughters. But of this we shall speak later. Varvara Petrovna 
began again, of course, to be treated with extreme deference and 
respect in society, but she took little advantage of it and went out 
rarely. 

She did, however, pay a visit of ceremony to the governor’s 
wife. Of course, no one had been more charmed and delighted 
by Yulia Mihailovna’s words spoken at the marshal’s soirée than 
she. They lifted a load of care off her heart, and had at once 
relieved much of the distress she had been suffering since that 
luckless Sunday. | 

‘“T misunderstood that woman,” she declared, and with her 
characteristic impulsiveness she frankly told Yulia Mihailovna 
that she had come to thank her. Yulia Mihailovna was flattered, 
but she behaved with dignity. She was beginning about this 


280 | THE POSSESSED 


time to be very conscious of her own importance, too much so, 
in fact. She announced, for example, in the course of conversa- 
tion, that she had never heard of Stepan Trofimovitch as a leading 
man or a savant. 

‘“‘T know young Verhovensky, of course, and make much of 
him. He’s imprudent, but then he’s young; he’s thoroughly 
well-informed, though. He’s not an out-of-date, old-fashioned 
critic, anyway.’ Varvara Petrovna hastened to observe that. 
Stepan Trofimovitch had never been a critic, but had, on the 
contrary, spent all his life in her house. He was renowned 
through circumstances of his early career, “‘ only too well known 
to the whole world,” and of late for his researches in Spanish 
history. Now he intended to write also on the position of 
modern German universities, and, she believed, something about 
the Dresden Madonna too. In short, Varvara Petrovna refused 
to surrender Stepan Trofimovitch to the tender mercies of Yulia 
Mihailovna. 

“The Dresden Madonna? You mean the Sistine Madonna ? 
Chére Varvara Petrovna, I spent two hours sitting before that 
picture and came away utterly disillusioned. I could make 
nothing of it and was in complete amazement. Karmazinov, 
too, says it’s hard to understand it. They all see nothing in it 
now, Russians and English alike. All its fame is just the talk 
of the last generation.”’ 

‘ Fashions are changed then ? ”’ 

“ What I think is that one mustn’t despise our younger genera- 
tion either. They cry out that they’re communists, but what 
I say is that we must appreciate them and mustn’t be hard 
on them. I read everything now—the papers, communism 
the natural sciences—I get everything because, after all, one 
must know where one’s living and with whom one has to do. 
One mustn’t spend one’s whole life on the heights of one’s own 
fancy. I’vecome to the conclusion, and adopted it as a principle, 
that one must be kind to the young people and so keep them from 
the brink. Believe me, Varvara Petrovna, that none but we 
who make up good society can by our kindness and good influence 
keep them from the abyss towards which they are brought by the 
intolerance of all these old men. J am glad though to learn from 
you about Stepan Trofimovitch. You suggest an idea to me: he 
may be useful at our literary matinée, you know I’m arranging 
for a whole day of festivities, a subscription entertainment for the 
benefit of the poor governesses of our province. They are 


ALL IN EXPECTATION 281] 


scattered about Russia; in our district alone we can reckon up 
six of them. Besides that, there are two girls in the telegraph 
office, two are being trained in the academy, the rest would like 
to be but have not the means. The Russian woman’s fate is a 
terrible one, Varvara Petrovna! It’s out of that they’re making 
the university question now, and there’s even been a meeting of 
the Imperial Council about it. In this strange Russia of ours 
one can do anything one likes ; and that, again, is why it’s only 
by the kindness and the direct warm sympathy of all the better 
classes that we can direct this great common cause in the true 
path. Oh, heavens, have we many noble personalities among 
us! There are some, of course, but they are scattered far and 
wide. Let us unite and we shall be stronger. In one word, I 
shall first have a literary matinée, then a light luncheon, then 
‘an interval, and in the evening a ball. We meant to begin the 
evening by living pictures, but it would involve a great deal of 
expense, and so, to please the public, there will be one or two 
quadrilles in masks and fancy dresses, representing well-known 
literary schools. This humorous idea was suggested by Kar- 
mazinov. He has been a great help to me. Do you know he’s 
going to read us the last thing he’s written, which no one has seen 
yet. He is laying down the pen, and will write no more. This 
last essay is his farewell to the public. It’s a charming little 
thing called ‘ Merci.’ The title is French; he thinks that more 
amusing and even subtler. Ido, too. In fact I advised it. I 
think Stepan Trofimovitch might read us something too, if it 
were quite short and... not so very learned. I believe 
Pyotr Stepanovitch and some one else too will read something. 
Pyotr Stepanovitch shall run round to you and tell you the 
programme. Better still, let me bring it to you myself.” 
‘“* Allow me to put my name down in your subscription list too. 
I’ll tell Stepan Trofimovitch and will beg him to consent.” 
Varvara Petrovna returned home completely fascinated. She 
was ready to stand up for Yulia Mihailovna through thick and 
thin, and for some reason was already quite put out with Stepan 
Trofimovitch, while he, poor man, sat at home, all unconscious. 
‘“‘T’m in love with her. I can’t understand how I could be so 
mistaken in that woman,” she said to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
and Pyotr Stepanovitch, who dropped in that evening. | 
‘But you must make peace with the old man all the same,”’ 
Pyotr Stepanovitch submitted. ‘‘He’s in despair. You've 
quite sent him to Coventry. Yesterday he met your carriage 


282 THE POSSESSED 


and bowed, and you turned away. We'll trot him out, you 
know; I’m reckoning on him for something, and he may still be 
useful,” 

‘ Oh, he'll read something.” 

“‘T don’t mean only that. And I was meaning to drop in on 
him to-day. So shall I tell him ?”’ 

“‘Tf you like. I don’t know, though, how you'll arrange it,” 


she said irresolutely. ‘‘I was meaning to have a talk with him 
myself, and wanted to fix the time and place.” 
She frowned. 


“ Oh, it’s not worth while fixing a time. Ill simply give him 
the message.” ; 

“Very well, do. Add that I certainly will fix a time to see 
him though. Be sure to say that too.” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch ran off, grinning. He was, in fact, to the 
best of my recollection, particularly spiteful all this time, and 
ventured upon extremely impatient sallies with almost every 
one. Strange to say, every one, somehow, forgave him. It was 
generally accepted that he was not to be looked at from the 
ordinary standpoint. I may remark that he took up an extremely 
resentful attitude about Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s duel. It 
took him unawares. He turned positively green when he was 
told of it. Perhaps his vanity was wounded : he only heard of it 
next day when every one knew of it. 

“You had no right to fight, you know,’’ he whispered to 
Stavrogin, five days later, when he chanced to meet him at the 
club. It was remarkable that they had not once met during those 
five days, though Pyotr Stepanovitch had dropped in at Varvara 
Petrovna’s almost every day. 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked at him in silence with an 
absent-minded air, as though not understanding what was the 
matter, and he went on without stopping. He was crossing 
the big hall of the club on his way to the refreshment room. 

‘“‘'You’ve been to see Shatov too. ... You mean to make 
it known about Marya Timofyevna,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch 
muttered, running after him, and, as though not thinking of 
what he was doing he clutched at his shoulder. 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch shook his hand off and turned round 
quickly to him with a menacing scowl. Pyotr Stepanovitch 
looked at him with a strange, prolonged smile. It all lasted 
only one moment. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch walked on. 





‘ALL IN EXPECTATION 283 


Ii 


He went to the “old man” straight from Varvara Petrovna’s, 
and he was in such haste simply from spite, that he might 
revenge himself for an insult of which I had no idea at that 
time. The fact is that at their last interview on the Thursday 
of the previous week, Stepan Trofimovitch, though the dispute 
was one of his own beginning, had ended by turning Pyotr 
Stepanovitch out with his stick. He concealed the incident 
from me at the time. But now, as soon as Pyotr Stepanovitch 
ran in with his everlasting grin, which was so naively conde- 
scending, and his unpleasantly inquisitive eyes peering into every 
corner, Stepan Trofimovitch at once made a signal aside to me, 
not to leave the room. This was how their real relations came 
to be exposed before me, for on this occasion I heard their whole 
conversation. 

Stepan Trofimovitch was sitting stretched out on a lounge. 
He had grown thin and sallow since that Thursday. Pyotr 
Stepanovitch seated himself beside him with a most familiar air, 
unceremoniously tucking his legs up under him, and taking 
up more room on the lounge than deference to his father should 
have allowed. Stepan Trofimovitch moved aside, in silence, 
and with dignity. 

On the table lay an open book. It was the novel, “* What’s to 
be done?” Alas, I must confess one strange weakness in my 
friend ; the fantasy that he ought to come forth from his solitude 
and fight a last battle was getting more and more hold upon his 
deluded imagination. I guessed that he had got the novel and 
was studying it solely in order that when the inevitable conflict 
with the “ shriekers ’’ came about he might know their methods 
and arguments beforehand, from their very “catechism,” and 
in that way be prepared to confute them all triumphantly, 
before her eyes. Oh, how that book tortured him! Hesometimes 
flung it aside in despair, and leaping up, paced about the room 
almost in a frenzy. 

‘‘T agree that the author’s fundamental idea is a true one,” he 
said to me feverishly, ‘“‘ but that only makes it more awful. It’s 
just our idea, exactly ours; we first sowed the seed, nurtured 
it, prepared the way, and, indeed, what could they say.new, 
after us? But, heavens! How it’s all expressed, distorted, 


284 THE POSSESSED f 


mutilated !”’ he exclaimed, tapping the book with his fingers. 
‘“‘ Were these the conclusions we were striving for. Who can 
understand the original idea in this ? ”’ 

‘Improving your mind?” sniggered Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
taking the book from the table and reading the title. “It’s 
high time. I'll bring you better, if you like.” 

Stepan Trofimovitch again preserved a dignified silence. I 
was sitting on a sofa in the corner. 

Pyotr Stepanovitch quickly explained the reason of his coming. 
Of course, Stepan Trofimovitch was absolutely staggered, and 
he listened in alarm, which was mixed with extreme indignation. 

‘And that Yulia Mihailovna counts on my coming to read: 
for her !.”’ 

“Well, they’re by no means in such need of you. On the 
contrary, it’s by way of an attention to you, so as to make up 
to Varvara Petrovna. But, of course, you won’t dare to refuse, 
and I expect you want to yourself,” he added witha grin. ‘‘ You 
old fogies are all so devilishly ambitious. But, I say though, 
you must look out that it’s not too boring. What have you 
got ? Spanish history, or what isit ? You'd better let me look 
at it three days beforehand, or else you'll put us to sleep 
perhaps.” | 

The hurried and too barefaced coarseness ‘of these thrusts 
was obviously premeditated. He affected to behave as though 
it were impossible to talk to Stepan Trofimovitch in different 
and more delicate language. Stepan Trofimovitch resolutely 
persisted in ignoring his insults, but what his son told him made 
a more and more overwhelming impression upon him. 

“And she, she herself sent me this message through you?” 
he asked, turning pale. 

“Well, you see, she means to fix a time and place for a mutual 
explanation, the relics of your sentimentalising. You’ve been 
coquetting with her for twenty years and have trained her to the 
most ridiculous habits. But don’t trouble yourself, it’s quite 
different now. She keeps saying herself that she’s only beginning 
now to ‘have her eyes opened.’ I told her in so many words 
that all this friendship of yours is nothing but a mutual pouring 
forth of sloppiness. She told me lots, my boy. Foo! what a 
flunkey’s place you’ve been filling all this time. I positively 
blushed for you.” 


“I filling a flunkey’s place?” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, 
unable to restrain himself. 


ALL IN EXPECTATION 285 


“Worse, you've been a parasite, that is, a voluntary flunkey 
too lazy to work, while you’ve an appetite for money. She, too, 
understands all that now. It’s awful the things she’s been telling 
me about you, anyway. I did laugh, my boy, over your letters 
to her; shameful and disgusting. But you’re all so depraved, 
so depraved! There’s always something depraving in charity— 
you re a good example of it !”’ : 

*“ She showed you my letters !”’ 

“All; though, of course, one couldn’t read them all. Foo, 
what a lot of paper you’ve covered! I believe there are more 
than two thousand letters there. And do you know, old chap, 
I believe there was one moment when she’d have been ready 
to marry you. You let slip your chance in the silliest way. Of 
course, I’m speaking from your point of view, though, anyway, it 
would have been better than now when you’ve almost been 
married to ‘cover another man’s sins,’ like a buffoon, for a jest, 
for money.” 

“For money! She, she says it was for money!” Stepan 
Trofimovitch wailed in anguish. 

““Whatelse, then? But, ofcourse, stoodupforyou. That’s 
your only line of defence, you know. She sees for herself that 
you needed money like every one else, and that from that point 
of view maybe you were right. I proved to her as clear as twice 
two makes four that it was a mutual bargain. She was a 
capitalist and you were a sentimental buffoon in her service. 
She’s not angry about the money, though you have milked her 
like a goat. She’s only in a rage at having believed in you for 
twenty years, at your having so taken her in over these noble 
sentiments, and made her tell lies for so long. She never will 
admit that she told lies of herself, but you'll catch it the more 
for that. I can’t make out how it was you didn’t see that you'd 
have to have a day of reckoning. For after all you had some 
sense. I advised her yesterday to put you in an almshouse, a 
genteel one, don’t disturb yourself ; there'll be nothing humilia- 
ting; I believe that’s what she’ll do. Do you remember your 
last letter to me, three weeks ago ?”’ 

‘Can you have shown her that ?” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, 
leaping up in horror. | 

“Rather! First thing. The one in which you told me she 
was exploiting you, envious of your talent; oh, yes, and that 
about ‘other men’s sins.’ You have got a conceit though, my 
boy! HowlIdid laugh. Asa rule your letters are very tedious. 


286 THE POSSESSED 


You write a horrible style. I often don’t read them at all, and 
I’ve one lying about to this day, unopened. I'll send it to you 
to-morrow. But that one, that last letter of yours was the tip- 
top of perfection! HowIdid laugh! Oh, how I laughed !”’ 

‘Monster, monster !’’ wailed Stepan Trofimovitch. 

‘“‘ Foo, damn it all, there’s no talking to you. I say, you’re 
getting huffy again as you were last Thursday.” 

Stepan Trofimovitch drew himself up, menacingly. 

‘““ How dare you speak to me in such language ? ”’ 

“What language ? It’s simple and clear.” 

“‘ Tell me, you monster, are you my son or not ?”’ 

‘““You know that best. To be sure all fathers are disposed 
to be blind in such cases.” 

‘Silence! Silence!” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, shaking all 
over. 

*< You see you’re screaming and swearing at me as you did last 
Thursday. You tried to lift your stick against me, but you 
know, I found that document. I was rummaging all the evening 
in my trunk from curiosity. It’s true there’s nothing definite, 
you can take that comfort. It’s only a letter of my mother’s to 
that Pole. But to judge from her character 2, LY 

‘** Another word and I’ll box your ears.’ 

‘What a set of people!” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, suddenly 
addressing himself to me. “ You see, this is how we’ve been 
ever since last Thursday. I’m glad you’re here this time, any- 
way, and can judge between us. To begin with, a fact: he 
reproaches me for speaking like this of my mother, but didn’t 
he egg me on to it ? In Petersburg before I left the High School, 
didn’t he wake me twice in the night, to embrace me, and cry like 
a woman, and what do you suppose he talked to me about at 
night ? Why, the same modest anecdotes about my mother ! 
3t was from him I first heard them.” 

‘“‘ Oh, I meant that in a higher sense! Oh, you didn’t under- 
stand me! You understood nothing, nothing.” 

“But, anyway, it was meaner in you than in me, meaner, 
acknowledge that. You see, it’s nothing to me if you like. I’m 
speaking from your point of view. Don’t worry about my point 
of view. I don’t blame my mother; if it’s you, then it’s you, if 
it’s a Pole, then it’s a Pole, it’s all the same to me. I’m not to 
blame because you and she managed so stupidly in Berlin. As 
though you could have managed things better. Aren’t you an 
absurd set, after that ? And does it matter to you whether I’m 


ALL IN EXPECTATION 287 


your son or not? Listen,’ he went on, turning to me again, 
“he’s never spent a penny on me all his life; till I was sixteen he 
didn’t know me at all; afterwards he robbed me here, and now 
he cries out that his heart has been aching over me all his life, 
and carries on before me like anactor. I’m net Varvara Petrovna, 
mind you.” 

He got up and took his hat. 

“I curse you henceforth ! ” 

Stepan Trofimovitch, as pale as death, stretched out his hand 
above him. : 

** Ach, what folly a man will descend to ! ”’ cried Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch, actually surprised. ‘‘ Well, good-bye, old fellow, I shall 
never come and see you again. Send me the article beforehand, 
don’t forget, and try and let it be free from nonsense. Facts, 
facts, facts. And above all, letit be short. Good-bye.” 


II] 


Outside influences, too, had come into play in the matter, 
however. Pyotr Stepanovitch certainly had some designs on 
his parent. In my opinion he calculated upon reducing the 
old man to despair, and so to driving him to some open scandal 
of a certain sort. This was to serve some remote and quite other 
object of his own, of which I shall speak hereafter. All sorts 
of plans and calculations of this kind were swarming in masses 
in his mind at that time, and almost all, of course, of a fantastic 
character. He had designs on another victim beside Stepan 
Trofimovitch. In fact, as appeared afterwards, his victims were 
not few in number, but this one he reckoned upon particularly, 
and it was Mr. von Lembke himself. 

Andrey Antonovitch von Lembke belonged to that race, so 
favoured by nature, which is reckoned by hundreds of thousands 
at the Russian census, and is perhaps unconscious that it forms 
throughout its whole mass a strictly organised union. And this 
union, of course, is not planned and premeditated, but exists 
spontaneously in the whole race, without words or agreements 
as a moral obligation consisting in mutual support given by all 
members of the race to one another, at all times and places, and 
under all circumstances. Andrey Antonovitch had the honour 
of being educated in one of those more exalted Russian educa- 
tional institutions which are filled with the youth from families 


288 THE POSSESSED 


well provided with wealth or connections. Almost immediately 
on finishing their studies the pupils were appointed to rather 
important posts in one of the government departments. Andrey 
Antonovitch had one uncle a colonel of engineers, and another 
a baker. But he managed to get into this aristocratic school, 
and met many of his fellow-countrymen in a similar position. 
He was a good-humoured companion, was rather stupid at his 
studies, but always popular. And when many of his companions 
in the upper forms—chiefly Russians—had already learnt to 
discuss the loftiest modern questions, and looked as though 
they were only waiting to leave school to settle the affairs of the 
universe, Andrey Antonovitch was still absorbed in the most 
innocent schoolboy interests. He amused them all, it is true, by 
his pranks, which were of a very simple character, at the most a 
little coarse, but he made it his object to be funny. At one time 
he would blow his nose in a wonderful way when the professor 
addressed a question to him, thereby making his schoolfellows 
and the professor laugh. Another time, in the dormitory, he 
would act some indecent living picture, to the general applause, or 
he would play the overture to “Fra Diavolo”’ with his nose 
rather skilfully. He was distinguished, too, by intentional 
untidiness, thinking this, for some reason, witty. In his very last 
year at school he began writing Russian poetry. 

Of his native language he had only an ungrammatical know- 
ledge, like many of his race in Russia. This turn for versifying 
drew him to a gloomy and depressed schoolfellow, the son of a 
poor Russian general, who was considered in the school to be a 
great future light in literature. The latter patronised him. 
But it happened that three years after leaving school this melan- | 
choly schoolfellow, who had flung up his official career for the 
sake of Russian literature, and was consequently going about in 
torn boots, with his teeth chattering with cold, wearing a light 
summer overcoat in the late autumn, met, one day on the 
Anitchin bridge, his former protégé, ‘‘ Lembka,” as he always 
used to be called at school. And, what do you suppose? He 
did not at first recognise him, and stood still in surprise. Before 
him stood an irreproachably dressed young man with wonderfully 
well-kept whiskers of a reddish hue, with pince-nez, with patent- 
leather boots, and the freshest of gloves, in a full overcoat from 
Sharmer’s, and with a portfolio under his arm. Lembke was 
cordial to his old schoolfellow, gave him his address, and begged — 
him to come and see him some evening. It appeared, too, that 


ALL IN EXPECTATION 289 


he was by now not “‘ Lembka’”’ but ‘ Von Lembke.””. Theschool- 
fellow came to see him, however, simply from malice perhaps. 
On the staircase, which was covered with red felt and was rather 
ugly and by no means smart, he was met and questioned by the 
house-porter. A bell rang loudly upstairs. But instead of the 
wealth which the visitor expected, he found Lembke in a very 
little side-room, which had a dark and dilapidated appearance, 
partitioned into two by a large dark green curtain, and furnished 
with very old though comfortable furniture, with dark green 
blinds on high narrow windows. Von Lembke lodged in the 
house of a very distant relation, a general who was his patron. 
He met his visitor cordially, was serious and exquisitely polite. 
They talked of literature, too, but kept within the bounds of 
decorum. A manservant in a white tie brought them some 
weak tea and little dry, round biscuits. The schoolfellow, from 
spite, asked for some seltzer water. It was given him, but after 
some delays, and Lembke was somewhat embarrassed at having 
to summon the footman a second time and give him orders. But 
of himself he asked his visitor whether he would like some supper, 
and was obviously relieved when he refused and went away. In 
short, Lembke was making his career, and was living in depen- 
dence on his fellow-countryman, the influential general. 

He was at that time sighing for the general’s fifth daughter, 
and it seemed to him that his feeling was reciprocated. But 
Amalia was none the less married in due time to an elderly 
factory-owner, a German, and an old comrade of the general’s. 
Andrey Antonovitch did not shed many tears, but made a paper 
theatre. The curtain drew up, the actors came in, and gesticu- 
lated with their arms. There were spectators in the boxes, the 
orchestra moved their bows across their fiddles by machinery, 
the conductor waved his baton, and in the stalls officers and 
dandies clapped their hands. It was all made of cardboard, it 
was all thought out and executed by Lembke himself. He spent 
six months over this theatre. The general arranged a friendly 
party on purpose. The theatre was exhibited, all the general’s 
five daughters, including the newly married Amalia with her 
factory-owner, numerous fraus and frauleins with their men folk, 
attentively examined and admired the theatre, after which they 
danced. Lembke was much gratified and was quickly consoled. 

The years passed by and his career was secured. He always 
obtained good posts and always under chiefs of his own race ; 


and he worked his way up at last to a very fine position 
T 


290 THE POSSESSED 


for a man of his age. He had, for a long time, been wishing 
to marry and looking about him carefully. Without the 
knowledge of his superiors he had sent a novel to the 
editor of a magazine, but it had not been accepted. On 
the other hand, he cut out a complete toy railway, and again 
his creation was most successful. Passengers came on to the 
platform with bags and portmanteaux, with dogs and children, 
and got into the carriages. The guards and porters moved away, 
the bell was rung, the signal was given, and the train started off. 
He was a whole year busy over this clever contrivance. But he 
had to get married all the same. The circle of his acquaintance 
was fairly wide, chiefly in the world of his compatriots, but his 
duties brought him into Russian spheres also, of course. 
Finally, when he was in his thirty-ninth year, he came in for a 
legacy. His uncle the baker died, and left him thirteen thousand 
roubles in his will. The one thing needful was a suitable post. 
In spite of the rather elevated style of his surroundings in the 
service, Mr. von Lembke was a very modest man. He would 
have been perfectly satisfied with some independent little govern- 
ment post, with the right to as much government timber as he 
liked, or something snug of that sort, and he would have been 
content all his life long. But now, instead of the Minna or 
Ernestine he had expected, Yulia Mihailovna suddenly appeared 
on the scene. His career was instantly raised to a more elevated 
plane. The modest and precise man felt that he too was capable 
of ambition. 

Yulia Mihailovna had a fortune of two hundred serfs, to reckon 
in the old style, and she had besides powerful friends. On the 
other hand Lembke was handsome, and she was already over 
forty. It is remarkable that he fell genuinely in love with her 
by degrees as he became moré used to being betrothed to her. 
On the morning of his wedding day he sent her a poem. She 
liked all this very much, even the poem ; it’s no joke to be forty. 
He was very quickly raised to a certain grade and received a 
certain order of distinction, and then was appointed governor of 
our province. 

Before coming to us Yulia Mihailovna worked hard at moulding 
her husband. In her opinion he was not without abilities, he 
knew how to make an entrance and to appear to advantage, he 
understood how to listen and be silent with profundity, had 
acquired a quite distinguished deportment, could make a speech, 
indeed had even some odds and ends of thought, and had caught ° 


ALL IN EXPECTATION 291 


the necessary gloss of modern liberalism. What worried her, 
however, was that he was not very open to new ideas, and after 
the long, everlasting plodding for a career, was unmistakably 
beginning to feel the need of repose. She tried to infect him with 
her own ambition, and he suddenly began making a toy church : 
the pastor came out to preach the sermon, the congregation 
listened with their hands before them, one lady was drying her 
tears with her handkerchief, one old gentleman was blowing his 
nose’; finally the organ pealed forth. It had been ordered 
from Switzerland, and made expressly in spite of all expense. 
Yulia Mihailovna, in positive alarm, carried off the whole 
structure as soon as she knew about it, and locked it up in a box 
in her own room. To make up for it she allowed him to write a 
novel on condition of its being kept secret. From that time she 
began to reckon only upon herself. Unhappily there was a good 
deal of shallowness and lack of judgment in her attitude. Destiny 
had kept her too long an old maid. Now one idea after another 
fluttered through her ambitious and rather over-excited brain. 
She cherished designs, she positively desired to rule the province, 
dreamed of becoming at once the centre of a circle, adopted 
political sympathies. Von Lembke was actually a little alarmed, 
though, with his official tact, he quickly divined that he had 
no need at all to be uneasy about the government of the province 
itself. The\first two or three months passed indeed very satis- 
factorily. But now Pyotr Stepanovitch had turned up, and 
something queer began to happen. 

The fact was that young Verhovensky, from the first step, had 
displayed a flagrant lack of respect for Andrey Antonovitch, and 
had assumed a strange right to dictate to him; while Yula 
Mihailovna, who had always till then been so jealous of her 
husband’s dignity, absolutely refused to notice it; or, at any 
rate, attached no consequence to it. The young man became a 
favourite, ate, drank, and almost sleptin the house. Von Lembke 
tried to defend himself, called him “‘ young man” before other 
people, and slapped him patronisingly on the shoulder, but made 
no impression. Pyotr Stepanovitch always seemed to be 
laughing in his face even when he appeared on the surface to be 
talking seriously to him, and he would say the most startling 
things to him before company. Returning home one day he 
found the young man had installed himself in his study and was 
asleep on the sofa there, uninvited. He explained that he had 
come in, and finding no one at home had “had a good sleep.” 


292 THE POSSESSED 


Von Lembke was offended and again complained to his wife. 
Laughing at his irritability she observed tartly that he evidently 
did not know how to keep up his own dignity ; and that with her, 
anyway, “the boy” had never permitted himself any undue 
familiarity, ‘‘ he was naive and fresh indeed, though not regardful 
of the conventions of society.”” Von Lembke sulked. This time 
she made peace between them. Pyotr Stepanovitch did not 
go so far as to apologise, but got out of it with a coarse jest, which 
might at another time have been taken for a fresh offence, but was 
accepted on this occasion as a token of repentance. The weak 
spot in Andrey Antonovitch’s position was that he had blundered 
in the first instance by divulging the secret of his novel to him. 
Imagining him to be an ardent young man of poetic feeling and 
having long dreamed of securing a listener, he had, during the 
early days of their acquaintance, on one occasion read aloud 
two chapters to him. The young man had listened without 
disguising his boredom, had rudely yawned, had vouchsafed no 
word of praise ; but on leaving had asked for the manuscript that 
he might form an opinion of it at his leisure, and Andrey Antono- 
vitch had given it him. He had not returned the manuscript 
since, though he dropped in every day, and had turned off all 
inquiries with a laugh. Afterwards he declared that he had lost 
it in the street. At the time Yulia Mihailovna was terribly angry 
with her husband when she heard of it. 

“Perhaps you told him about the church too?” she burst 
out almost in dismay. 

Von Lembke unmistakably began to brood, and brooding was 
bad for him, and had been forbidden by the doctors. Apart 
from the fact that there were signs of trouble in the province, of 
which we will speak later, he had private reasons for brooding, 
his heart was wounded, not merely his official dignity. When 
Andrey Antonovitch had entered upon married life, he had never 
conceived the possibility of conjugal strife, or dissension in the 
future. It was inconsistent with the dreams he had cherished all 
his life of his Minna or Ernestine. He felt that he was unequal 
to enduring domestic storms. Yulia Mihailovna had an open 
explanation with him at last. 

‘You can’t be angry at this,” she said, “if only because you’ve 
still as much sense as he has, and are immeasurably higher in the 
social scale. . The boy still preserves many traces of his old free- 
thinking habits; I believe it’s simply mischief; but one can 
do nothing suddenly, in a hurry ; you must do things by degrees. 


ALL IN EXPECTATION 293 


We must make much of our young people; I treat them with 
affection and hold them back from the brink.” 

** But he says such dreadful things,’? Von Lembke objected. 
“I can’t behave tolerantly when he maintains in my presence 
and before other people that the government purposely drenches 
the people with vodka in order to brutalise them, and so keep 
them from revolution. Fancy my position when I’m forced to 
listen to that before every one.” 

As he said this, Von Lembke recalled a conversation he had 
recently had with Pyotr Stepanovitch. With the innocent object 
of displaying his Liberal tendencies he had shown him his own 
private collection of every possible kind of manifesto, Russian and 
foreign, which he had carefully collected since the year 1859, not 
simply from a love of collecting but from a laudable interest 
in them. Pyotr Stepanovitch, seeing his object, expressed the 
opinion that there was more sense in one line of some manifestoes 
than in a whole government department, “‘ not even excluding 
yours, maybe.” 

Lembke winced. 

“But this is premature among us, premature,” he pro- 
nounced almost imploringly, pointing to the manifestoes. 

‘“‘ No, it’s not premature; you see you're afraid, so it’s not 
premature.” 

‘* But here, for instance, is an incitement to destroy churches.”’ 

“And why not? You're a sensible man, and of course you 
don’t believe in it yourself, but you know perfectly well that you 
need religion to brutalise the people. Truth is honester than 
falsehood. . . .” 

‘JT agree, I agree, I quite agree with you, but it is premature, 
premature in this country .. .” said Von Lembke, frowning. 

*¢ And how can you be an official of the government after that, 
when you agree to demolishing churches, and marching on 
Petersburg armed with staves, and make it all simply a question of 
date ?”’ 

Lembke was greatly put out at being so crudely caught. 

“‘ It’s not so, not so at all,’’ he cried, carried away and more and 
more mortified in his amour-propre. “‘ You’re young, and know 
nothing of our aims, and that’s why you're mistaken. You see, 
my dear Pyotr Stepanovitch, you call us officials of the govern- 
ment, don’t you? Independent officials, don’t you? But let 
me ask you, how are we acting? Ours is the responsibility, 
but in the long run we serve the cause of progress just as you do. 


294 THE POSSESSED 


We only hold together what you are unsettling, and what, but for 
us, would go to pieces in all directions. We are not your enemies, 
not a bit of it. We say to you, go forward, progress, you may 
even unsettle things, that is, things that are antiquated and 
in need of reform. But we will keep you, when need be, within 
necessary limits, and so save you from yourselves, for without us 
you would set Russia tottering, robbing her of all external 
decency, while our task is to preserve external decency. _Under- 
stand that we are mutually essential to one another. In England 
the Whigs and Tories are in the same way mutually essential to 
one another. Well, you’re Whigs and we’re Tories. That’s how 
I look at it.” 

Andrey Antonovitch rose to positive eloquence. He had been 
fond of talking in a Liberal and intellectual style even in Peters- 
burg, and the great thing here was that there was no one to play 
the spy on him. 

Pyotr Stepanovitch was silent, and maintained an unusually 
grave air. This excited the orator more than ever. 

‘Do you know that I, the ‘person responsible for the 
province,’ ’’ he went on, walking about the study, “‘ do you know 
I have so many duties I can’t perform one of them, and, on the 
other hand, I can say just as truly that there’s nothing for me 
to do here. The whole secret of it is, that everything depends 
upon the views of the government. Suppose the government 
were ever to found a republic, from policy, or to pacify public 
excitement, and at the same time to increase the power of the 
governors, then we governors would swallow up the republic ; and 
not the republic only. Anything you like we’ll swallow up. I, at 
least, feel that I am ready. In one word, if the government 
dictates to me by telegram, activité dévorante, Dll supply 
actwité dévorante. Ive told them here straight in their faces: 
‘Dear sirs, to maintain the equilibrium and to develop all the 
provincial institutions one thing is essential ; the increase of the 
power of the governor.’ You see it’s necessary that all these 
institutions, the zemstvos, the law-courts, should have a two-fold 
existence, that is, on the one hand, it’s necessary they should 
exist (I agree that it is necessary), on the other hand, it’s necessary 
that they shouldn’t. It’s all according to the views of the 
government. If the mood takes them so that institutions seem 
suddenly necessary, I shall have them at once in readiness. 
The necessity passes and no one will find them under my rule. 
That’s what I understand by activité dévorante, and you can’t 


ALL IN EXPECTATION 295 


have it without an increase of the governor’s power. We’re 
talking téte-d-iéte. You know I’ve already laid before the 
government in Petersburg the necessity of a special sentinel 
before the governor’s house. I’m awaiting an answer.” 

‘You ought to have two,” Pyotr Stepanovitch commented. 

“ Why two ?”’ said Von Lembke, stopping short before him. 

“ One’s:not enough to create respect for you. You certainly 
ought to have two.” 

Andrey Antonovitch made a wry face. 

“You .. . there’s no limit to the liberties you take, Pyotr 
Stepanovitch. You take advantage of my good-nature, you 
say cutting things, and play the part of a bowrru bienfaisant. .. .” 

“Well, that’s as you please,’’ muttered Pyotr Stepanovitch ; 
“anyway you pave the way for us and prepare for our 
success.” 

‘“‘ Now, who are ‘we,’ and what success ?’”’ said Von Lembke, 
staring at him in surprise. But he got no answer. 

Yulia Mihailovna, receiving a report of the conversation, was 
greatly displeased. 

“But I can’t exercise my official authority upon your 
favourite,’ Andrey Antonovitch protested in self-defence, 
“especially when we're (éte-d-léte. . . . [may say toomuch.. . 
in the goodness of my heart.”’ 

‘“‘ From too\much goodness of heart. I didn’t know you’d got 
a collection of manifestoes. Be so good as to show them to me.” 


“But . . . he asked to have them for one day.”’ 
‘“‘ And you’ve let him have them, again!” cried Yulia Mihail- 
ovna getting angry. ‘‘ How tactless !”’ 


‘“‘T’ll send some one to him at once to get them.” 

“He won't give them up.” 

“T’ll insist on it,’’ cried Von Lembke, boiling over, and he 
jumped up from his seat. ‘‘ Who’s he that we should be so 
afraid of him, and who am I that I shouldn’t dare to do any- 
thing ?”’ 

‘ Sit down and calm yourself,” said Yulia Mihailovna, checking 
him. “I will answer your first question. He came to me with 
the highest recommendations. He’s talented, and sometimes 
says extremely clever things. Karmazinov tells me that he has 
connections almost everywhere, and extraordinary influence over 
the younger generation in Petersburg and Moscow. And if 
through him I can attract them all and group them round myself, 
I shall be saving them from perdition by guiding them into a 


296: THE POSSESSED 


new outlet for their ambitions. He’s devoted to me with his 
whole heart and is guided by me in everything.”’ 

‘“ But while they’re being petted . . . the devil knows what 
they may not do. Ofcourse, it’s anidea .. .”’ said Von Lembke, 


vaguely defending himself, “but... but here Tve heard i 


that manifestoes of some sort have been found in X district.”’ 

‘* But there was a rumour of that in the summer—manifestoes, 
false bank-notes, and all the rest of it, but they haven’t found 
one of them so far. Who told you ?” 

*T heard it from Von Blum.” 

“Ah, don’t talk to me of your Blum. Don’t ever dare 
mention him again !”’ 

Yulia Mihailovna flew into a rage, and for a moment could not 
speak. Von Blum was a clerk in the governor’s office whom she 
particularly hated. Of that later. 

“Please don’t worry yourself about Verhovensky,”’ she said 
inconclusion. ‘If he had taken part in any mischief he wouldn’t 
talk as he does to you, and every one else here. ‘Talkers are not 
dangerous, and I will even go so far as to say that if anything 
were to happen I should be the first to hear of it rae him, 
He’s quite fanatically devoted to me.’ 

I will observe, anticipating events that, had it not ‘ae for 
Yulia Mihailovna’s obstinacy and self-conceit, probably nothing 
of all the mischief these wretched people succeeded in bringing 
about amongst us would have happened. She was responsible 
for a great deal, 





CHAPTER V 
ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 


I 


Tue date of the féte which Yulia Mihailovna was getting up 
for the benefit of the governesses of our province had been 
several times fixed and put off. She had invariably bustling round 
her Pyotr Stepanovitch and a little clerk, Lyamshin, who used 
at one time to visit Stepan Trofimovitch, and had suddenly found 
favour in the governor’s house for the way he played the piano 
and now was of use running errands. Liputin was there a good deal 
too, and Yulia Mihailovna destined him to be the editor of a new 
independent provincial paper. ‘There were also several ladies, 
married and single, and lastly, even Karmazinov who, though 
he could not be said to bustle, announced aloud with a complacent 
air that he would agreeably astonish every one when the literary 
quadrille began. An extraordinary multitude of donors and 


_ subscribers had turned up, all the select society of the town ; but 


even the unselect were admitted, if only they produced the 
cash. Yulia Mihailovna observed that sometimes it was a positive 
duty to allow the mixing of classes, “for otherwise who is to 
enlighten them ?”’ . 

A private drawing-room committee was formed, at which it 
was decided that the féte was to be of a democratic character. 
The enormous list of subscriptions tempted them to lavish 
expenditure. They wanted to do something on a marvellous 
scale—that’s why it was put off. They were still undecided 
where the ball was to take place, whether in the immense house 
belonging to the marshal’s wife, which she was willing to give up 
to them for the day, or at Varvara Petrovna’s mansion at 
Skvoreshniki. It was rather a distance to Skvoreshniki, but 
many of the committee were of opinion that it would be “ freer ”’ 
there. Varvara Petrovna would dearly have liked it to have 
been in her house. It’s difficult to understand why this 
proud woman seemed almost making up to Yulia Mihailovna. 
Probably what pleased her was that the latter in her turn 
seemed almost fawning upon Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch and 
was more gracious to him sai anyone. I repeat again that 

7 


298 THE POSSESSED 


Pyotr Stepanovitch was always, in continual whispers, strengthen- 
ing in the governor’s household an idea he had insinuated there 
already, that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was a man who had very 
mysterious connections with very mysterious circles, and that he 
had certainly come here with some commission from them. 

People here seemed in a strange state of mind at the time. 
Among the ladies especially a sort of frivolity was conspicuous, 
and it could not be said to be a gradual growth. Certain very 
free-and-easy notions seemed to beintheair. There was a sort of 
dissipated gaiety and levity, and I can’t say it was always quite 
pleasant. <A lax way of thinking was the fashion. Afterwards 
when it was all over, people blamed Yulia Mihailovna, her circle, 
her attitude. But it can hardly have been altogether due to 
Yulia Mihailovna. On the contrary ; at first many people vied 
with one another in praising the new governor’s wife for her 
success in bringing local society together, and for making things 
more lively. Several scandalous incidents took place, for which 
Yulia Mihailovna was in no way responsible, but at the time people 
were amused and did nothing but laugh, and there was no one 
to check them. A rather large group of people, it is true, held 
themselves aloof, and had views of their own on the course of 
events. But even these made no complaint at the time; they 
smiled, in fact. 

I remember that a fairly large circle came into existence, 
as it were, spontaneously, the centre of which perhaps was really 
to be found in Yulia Mihailovna’s drawing-room. In this 
intimate circle which surrounded her, among the younger 
members of it, of course, it was considered admissible to play all 
sorts of pranks, sometimes rather free-and-easy ones, and, in 
fact, -such conduct became a principle among them. In this 
circle there were even some very charming ladies. The young 
people arranged picnics, and even parties, and sometimes went 
about the town in a regular cavalcade, in carriages and on 
horseback.. They sought out adventures, even got them up 
themselves, simply for the sake of having an amusing story to 
tell. They treated our town as though it were a sort of Glupov. 
People called them the jeerers or sneerers, because they did not 
stick at anything. It happened, for instance, that the wife of a 
local leutenant, a little brunette, very young though she looked 
worn out from her husband’s ill-treatment, at an evening party 
thoughtlessly sat down to play whist for high stakes in the fervent 
hope of winning enough to buy herself a mantle, and instead of 


ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 299 


winning, lost fifteen roubles. Being afraid of her husband, and 
having no means of paying, she plucked up the courage of 
_ former days and ventured on the sly to ask for a loan, on the 
spot, at the party, from the son of our mayor, a very nasty youth, 
precociously vicious. The latter not only refused it, but went 
laughing aloud to tell her husband. The lieutenant, who 
certainly was poor, with nothing but his salary, took his wife home 
and avenged himself upon her to his heart’s content in spite of 
- her shrieks, wails, and entreaties on her knees for forgiveness. 
This revolting story excited nothing but mirth all over the town, 
and though the poor wife did not belong to Yulia Mihailovna’s 
circle, one of the ladies of the “ cavalcade,’’ an eccentric and 
adventurous character who happened to know her, drove round, 
and simply carried her off to herown house. Here she was at once 
taken up by our madcaps, made much of, loaded with presents, 
and kept for four days without being sent back to her husband. 
She stayed at the adventurous lady’s all day long, drove about 
with her and all the sportive company in expeditions about 
the town, and took part in dances and merry-making. They 
kept egging her on to haul her husband before the court and to 
make a scandal. They declared that they would all support her 
and would come and bear witness. The husband kept quiet, 
not daring to oppose them. The poor thing realised at last that 
she had got into a hopeless position and, more dead than alive 
with fright, on the fourth day she ran off in the dusk from her 
protectors to her lieutenant. It’s not definitely known what took 
place between husband and wife, but two shutters of the low- 
pitched little house in which the lieutenant lodged were not opened 
for a fortnight. Yulia Mihailovna was angry with the mischief- 
makers when she heard about it all, and was greatly displeased 
with the conduct of the adventurous lady, though the latter 
had presented the lieutenant’s wife to her on the day she carried 
her off. However, this was soon forgotten. 

Another time a petty clerk, a respectable head of a family, 
married his daughter, a beautiful girl of seventeen, known to 
every one in the town, to another petty clerk, a young man who 
came from a different district. But suddenly it was learned that 
_ the young husband had treated the beauty very roughly on the 
wedding night, chastising her for what he regarded as a stain on 
his honour. Lyamshin, who was almost a witness of the affair, 
because he got drunk at the wedding and so stayed the night, 
as soon as day dawned, ran round with the diverting intelligence. 


300 THE POSSESSED 


Instantly a party of a dozen was made up, all of them on horse- 
back, some on hired Cossack horses, Pyotr Stepanovitch, for 
instance, and Liputin, who, in spite of his grey hairs, took part in 
almost every scandalous adventure of our reckless youngsters. 
When the young couple appeared in the street in a droshky with 
a pair of horses to make the calls which are obligatory in our town 
on the day after a wedding, in spite of anything that may happen, 
the whole cavalcade, with merry laughter, surrounded the droshky 
and followed them about the town all the morning. They did 
not, it’s true, go into the house, but waited for them outside, 
on horseback. They refrained from marked insult to the bride 
or bridegroom, but still they caused a scandal. The whole 
town began talking of it. Every one laughed, of course. But 
at this Von Lembke was angry, and again had a lively scene 
with Yulia Mihailovna. She, too, was extremely angry, and 
formed the intention of turning the scapegraces out of her house. 
But next day she forgave them all after persuasions from Pyotr 
Stepanovitch and some words from Karmazinov, who considered 
the affair rather amusing. 

‘It’s in harmony with the traditions of the place,’ he said. 
“* Anyway it’s characteristic and ... bold; and look, every 
one’s laughing, you’re the only person ‘indignan # 

But there were pranks of a certain character that were abso- 
lutely past endurance. 

A respectable woman of the artisan class, who went about 
selling gospels, came into the town. People talked about her, 
because some interesting references to these gospel women had 
just appeared in the Petersburg papers. Again the same buffoon, 
Lyamshin, with the help of a divinity student, who was taking a 
holiday while waiting for a post in the school, succeeded, on the 
pretence of buying books from the gospel woman, in thrusting into 
her bag a whole bundle of indecent and obscene photographs from 
abroad, sacrificed expressly for the purpose, as we learned after- 
wards, by a highly respectable old gentleman (I will omit his name) 
with an order on his breast, who, to use his own words, loved ‘‘a 
healthy laugh and a merry jest.”” When the poor woman went to 
take out the holy books in the bazaar, the photographs were 
scattered about the place. There were roars of laughter and 
murmurs of indignation. A crowd collected, began abusing her, 
and would have come to blows if the police had not arrived in the 
nick of time. The gospel woman was taken to the lock-up, and. 
only in the evening, thanks to the efforts of Mavriky Nikolaevitch, 


ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 301 


who had learned with indignation the secret details of this loath- 
some affair, she was released and escorted out of the town. At 
this point Yulia Mihailovna would certainly have forbidden 
Lyamshin her house, but that very evening the whole circle 
brought him to her with the intelligence that he had just com- 
posed a new piece for the piano, and persuaded her at least to 
hear it. The piece turned out to be really amusing, and bore the 
comic title of “The Franco-Prussian War.” It began with the 
menacing strains of the ‘‘Marseillaise ”’ : 

* Qu’ un sang impur abreuve nos sillons.”’ 

There is heard the pompous challenge, the intoxication of 
future victories. But suddenly mingling with the masterly 
variations on the national hymn, somewhere from some corner 
quite close, on one side come the vulgar strains of ‘‘ Mein lieber 
Augustin.” The ‘‘ Marseillaise’’ goes on unconscious of them. 
The ‘‘ Marseillaise ” is at the climax of its intoxication with its own 
grandeur; but Augustin gains strength; Augustin grows more 
and more insolent, and suddenly the melody of Augustin begins 
to blend with the melody of the “ Marseillaise.”’ The latter 
begins, as it were, to get angry; becoming aware of Augustin 
at last she tries to fling him off, to brush him aside like a tiresome 
insignificant fly. But “‘ Mein lieber Augustin” holds his ground 
firmly, he is cheerful and self-confident, he is gleeful and impudent, 
and the ‘ Marseillaise’’ seems suddenly to become terribly 
stupid. She can no longer conceal her anger and mortification ; 
it is a wail of indignation, tears, and curses, with hands out- 
stretched to Providence. 

“* Pas un pouce de notre terrain ; pas une de nos forteresses.” 

But she is forced to sing in time with “‘ Mein lieber Augustin.” 
Her melody passes in a sort of foolish way into Augustin; she 
yields and dies away. And only by snatches there is heard 
again : 

‘“QOwun sang impur .. . 

But at once it passes very offensively into the vulgar waltz. 
She submits altogether. It is Jules Favre sobbing on Bismarck’s 
bosom and surrendering everything. ... But at this point 
Augustin too grows fierce; hoarse sounds are heard ; there is 
a suggestion of countless gallons of beer, of a frenzy of seli- 
glorification, demands for millions, for fine cigars, champagne, 
and hostages. Augustin passes into a wild yell... . “The 
Franco-Prussian War’ is over. Our circle applauded, Yulia 
Mihailovna smiled, and said, “Now, how is one to turn him 


99 


302 THE POSSESSED 


out ?”? Peace wasmade. The rascal really had talent. Stepan 
Trofimovitch assured me on one occasion that the very highest 
artistic talents may exist in the most abominable blackguards, 
and that the one thing does not interfere with the other. There 
was a rumour afterwards that Lyamshin had stolen this burlesque 
from a talented and modest young man of his acquaintance, 
whose name remained unknown. But this is beside the mark. 
This worthless fellow who had hung about Stepan Trofimovitch 
for years, who used at his evening parties, when invited, to 
mimic Jews of various types, a deaf peasant woman making her 
confession, or the birth of a child, now at Yulia Mihailovna’s 
caricatured Stepan Trofimovitch himself in a killing way, under 
the title of ‘‘ A Liberal of the Forties.’’ Everybody shook with 
laughter, so that in the end it was quite impossible to turn him 
out : he had become too necessary a person. Besides he fawned 
upon Pyotr Stepanovitch in a slavish way, and he, in his turn, 
had obtained by this time a strange and unaccountable influence 
over Yulia Mihailovna. 

I wouldn’t have talked about this scoundrel, and, indeed, he 
would not be worth dwelling upon, but there was another 
revolting story, so people declare, in which he had a hand, and 
this story I cannot omit from my record. 

One morning the news of a hideous and revolting sacrilege 
was all over the town. At the entrance to our immense market- 
place there stands the ancient church of Our Lady’s Nativity, 
which was a remarkable antiquity in our ancient town. At 
the gates of the precincts there is a large ikon of the Mother of 
God fixed behind a grating in the wall. And behold, one night 
the ikon had been robbed, the glass of the case was broken, the 
grating was smashed and several stones and pearls (I don’t know 
whether they were very precious ones) had been removed from 
the crown and the setting. But what was worse, besides the 
theft a senseless, scoffing sacrilege had been perpetrated. Behind 
the broken glass of the ikon they found in the morning, so it was 
said, a live mouse. Now, four months since, it has been estab- 
lished beyond doubt that the crime was committed by the convict 
Fedka, but for some reason it is added that Lyamshin took 
part in it. At the time no one spoke of Lyamshin or had any 
suspicion of him. But now every one says it was he who put 
the mouse there. I remember all our responsible officials were 
rather staggered. A crowd thronged round the scene of the 
crime from early morning. There was a crowd continually. 


ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 303 


before it, not a very huge one, but always about a hundred people, 
some coming and some going. As they approached they crossed 
themselves and bowed down to the ikon. They began to give 
offerings, and a church dish made its appearance, and with the 
dishamonk. Butit was only about three o’clock in the afternoon 
it occurred to the authorities that it was possible to prohibit the 
crowds standing about, and to command them when they had 
prayed, bowed down and left their offerings, to pass on. Upon 
Von Lembke this unfortunate incident made the gloomiest 
impression. As I was told, Yulia Mihailovna said afterwards 
it was from this ill-omened morning that she first noticed in her 
husband that strange depression which persisted in him until he 
left our province on account of illness two months ago, and, I 
believe, haunts him still in Switzerland, where he has gone for a 
rest after his brief career amongst us. 

I remember at one o’clock in theafternoon I crossed the market- 
place ; the crowd was silent and their faces solemn and gloomy. 
A merchant, fat and sallow, drove up, got out of his carriage, 
made a bow to the ground, kissed the ikon, offered a rouble, 
sighing, got back into his carriage and drove off. Another 
carriage drove up with two ladies accompanied by two of our 
scapegraces. The young people (one of whom was not quite 
young) got out of their carriage too, and squeezed their way up 
to the ikon, pushing people aside rather carelessly. Neither of 
the young men took off his hat, and one of them put a pince-nez 
on his nose. In the crowd there was a murmur, vague but 
unfriendly. The dandy with the pince-nez took out of his 
purse, which was stuffed full of bank-notes, a copper farthing and 
flung it into the dish. Both laughed, and, talking loudly, went 
back to their carriage. At that moment Lizaveta Nikolaevna 
galloped up, escorted by Mavriky Nikolaevitch. She jumped 
off her horse, flung the reins to her companion, who, at her bidding, 
remained on his horse, and approached the ikon at the very 
moment when the farthing had been flung down. A flush of 
indignation suffused her cheeks ; she took off her round hat and 
her gloves, fell straight on her knees before the ikon on the 
muddy pavement, and reverently bowed down three times to 
the earth. Then she took out her purse, but as it appeared 
she had only a few small coins in it she instantly took off her 
diamond ear-rings and put them in the dish. 

“May 1? May I? For the adornment of the setting ?” 
she asked the monk. 


’ 


# 


304 THE POSSESSED 


‘‘ It is permitted,’ replied the latter, “ every gift is good.” 

The crowd was silent, expressing neither dissent nor approval. 
Liza got on her horse again, in her muddy riding-habit, and 
galloped away. 


II 


Two days after the incident I have described 1 met her in a 
numerous company, who were driving out on some expedition 
in three coaches, surrounded by others. on horseback. She 
beckoned to me, stopped her carriage, and pressingly urged me 
to join their party. A place was found for me in the carriage, 
and she laughingly introduced me to her companions, gorgeously 
attired ladies, and explained to me that they were all going on a 
very interesting expedition. She was laughing, and seemed 
somewhat excessively happy. pest lately she had been very 
lively, even playful, in fact. 

The expedition was certainly an eccentric one. They were all 
going to a house the other side of the river, to the merchant 
Sevastyanov’s. In the lodge of this merchant’s house our 
saint and prophet, Semyon Yakovlevitch, who was famous not 
only amongst us but in the surrounding provinces and even in 
Petersburg and Moscow, had been living for the last ten years, 
in retirement, ease, and comfort. Every one went to see him, 
especially visitors to the neighbourhood, extracting from him 
some crazy utterance, bowing down to him, and leaving an 
offering. These offerings were sometimes considerable, and if 
Semyon Yakovlevitch did not himself assign them to some other 
purpose were piously sent to some church or more often to the 
monastery of Our Lady. A monk from. the monastery 
was always in waiting upon Semyon Yakovlevitch with this 
object. 

All were in expectation of great amusement. No one of the 
party had seen Semyon Yakovlevitch before, except Lyamshin, 
who declared that the saint had given orders that he should 
be driven out with a broom, and had with his own hand flung 
two big baked potatoes after him. Among the party I noticed 
Pyotr Stepanovitch, again riding a hired Cossack horse, on which 
he sat extremely badly, and Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, also on 


horseback. The latter did not always hold aloof from social _ 


diversions, and on such occasions always wore an air of gaiety, 


although, as always, he spoke little and seldom. When our party | 





ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 305 


had crossed the bridge and reached the hotel of the town, some 
one suddenly announced that in one of the rooms of the hotel 
they had just found a traveller who had shot himself, and 
were expecting the police. At once the suggestion was made 
that they should go and look at the suicide. The idea met with 
approval: our ladies had never seen a suicide. JI remember 
one of them said aloud on the occasion, ‘“‘ Everything’s so boring, 
one can’t be squeamish over one’s amusements, as long as they’re 
interesting.” Only a few of them remained outside. The 
others went in a body into the dirty corridor, and amongst the 
others I saw, to my amazement, Lizaveta Nikolaevna. The 
door of the room was open, and they did not, of course, dare to 
prevent our going in to look at the suicide. He was quite a 
young lad, not more than nineteen. He must have been very good- 
looking, with thick fair hair, with a regular oval face, and a fine, 
pure forehead. 'The body was already stiff, and his white young 
face looked like marble. On the table lay a note, in his hand- 
writing, to the effect that no one was to blame for his death, 
that he had killed himself because he had “‘ squandered ”’ four 
hundred roubles. The word ‘‘ squandered ”’ was used in the letter ; 
in the four lines of his letter there were three mistakes in spelling. 
A stout country gentleman, evidently a neighbour, who had 
been staying in the hotel on some business of his own, was 
particularly distressed about it. From his words it appeared 
that the boy had been sent by his family, that is, a widowed 
mother, sisters, and aunts, from the country to the town in order 
that, under the supervision of a female relation in the town, 
he might purchase and take home with him various articles for 
the trousseau of his eldest sister, who was going to be married. 
The family had, with sighs of apprehension, entrusted him with 
the four hundred roubles, the savings of ten years, and had sent 
him on his way with exhortations, prayers, and signs of the 
cross. The boy had till then been well-behaved and trust- 
worthy. Arriving three days before at the town, he had not gone 
to his relations, had put up at the hotel, and gone straight to 
the club in the hope of finding in some back room a “ travelling 
banker,” or at least some game of cards for money. But that 
evening there was no “ banker” there or gambling going on, 
Going back to the hotel about midnight he asked for champagne, 
Havana cigars, and ordered a supper of six or seven dishes, 
But the champagne made him drunk, and the cigar made him 


sick so that he did not touch the food when it was brought to 
U : 


306 THE POSSESSED 


him, and went to bed almost unconscious. Waking next morning 
as fresh as an apple, he went at once to the gipsies’ camp, which 
was in a suburb beyond the river, and of which he had heard the 
day before at the club. He did not reappear at the hotel for two 
days. At last, at five o’clock in the afternoon of the previous 
day, he had returned drunk, had at once gone to bed, and had slept 
till ten o’clock in the evening. On waking up he had asked 
for a cutlet, a bottle of Chateau d’Yquem, and some grapes, 
paper, and ink, and his bill. No one noticed anything special 
about him; he was quiet, gentle, and friendly. He must have 
shot himself at about midnight, though it was strange that no 
one had heard the shot, and they only raised the alarm at midday, 
when, after knocking in vain, they had broken in the door. The 
bottle of Chateau d’Yquem was half empty, there was half a plate- 
ful of grapes left too. The shot had been fired from a little three- 
chambered revolver, straight into the heart. Very little blood 
had flowed. The revolver had dropped from his hand on to 
the carpet. The boy himself was half lying in a corner of the 
sofa. Death must have been instantaneous. There was no 
trace of the anguish of death in the face; the expression was 
serene, almost happy, as though there were no cares in his life. 
All our party stared at him with greedy curiosity. In every 
misfortune of one’s neighbour there is always something cheering 
for an onlooker—whoever he may be. Our ladies gazed in 
silence, their companions distinguished themselves by their 
wit and their superb equanimity. One observed that his was 
the best way out of it, and that the boy could not have hit upon 
anything more sensible; another observed that he had had 
a good time if only for a moment. A third suddenly blurted 
out the inquiry why people had begun hanging and shooting 
themselves among us of late, as though they had suddenly lost 
their roots, as though the ground were giving way under every one’s 
feet. People looked coldly at this ratcsonneur. Then Lyamshin, 
who prided himself on playing the fool, took a bunch of grapes 
from the plate; another, laughing, followed his example, and 
a third stretched out his hand for the Chateau d’Yquem. But 
the head of police arriving checked him, and even ordered that 
the room should be cleared. As every one had seen all they 
wanted they went out without disputing, though Lyamshin 
began pestering the police captain about something. The 
general merrymaking, laughter, and playful talk were twice as 
lively on the latter half of the way. 





ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 307 


Wearrived at Semyon Yakovlevitch’s just at one o’clock. The 
gate of the rather large house stood unfastened, and the approach 
to the lodge was open. We learnt at once that Semyon Yakov- 
levitch was dining, but was receiving guests. The whole crowd of 
us went in. The room in which the saint dined and received 
visitors had three windows, and was fairly large. It was divided 
into two equal parts by a wooden lattice-work partition, which 
ran from wall to wall, and was three or four feet high. Ordinary 
visitors remained on the outside of this partition, but lucky ones 
were by the saint’s invitation admitted through the partition 
doors into his half of the room. And if so disposed he made 
them sit down on the sofa or on his old leather chairs. He 
himself invariably sat in an old-fashioned shabby Voltaire 
arm-chair. He was a rather big, bloated-looking, yellow-faced 
man of five and fifty, with a bald head and scanty flaxen hair. 
He wore no beard ; his right cheek was swollen, and his mouth 
seemed somehow twisted awry. He had a large wart on the 
left side of his nose; narrow eyes, and a calm, stolid, sleepy 
expression. He was dressed in European style, in a black coat, 
but had no waistcoat or tie. A rather coarse, but white shirt, 
peeped out below his coat. There was something the matter 
with his feet, I believe, and he kept them in slippers. I’ve heard 
that he had at one time been a clerk, and received a rank in the 
service. He had just finished some fish soup, and was beginning 
his second dish of potatoes in their skins, eaten with salt. He 
never ate anything else, but he drank a great deal of tea, of which 
he was very fond. ‘Three servants provided by the merchant 
were running to and fro about him. One of them was in a 
swallow-tail, the second looked like a workman, and the third 
like a verger. There was also a very lively boy of sixteen. 
Besides the servants there was present, holding a jug, a reverend, 
grey-headed monk, who was a little too fat. On one of the tables 
a huge samovar was boiling, and a tray with almost two dozen 
glasses was standing near it. On another table opposite offerings 
had been placed: some loaves and also some pounds of sugar, 
two pounds of tea, a pair of embroidered slippers, a foulard 
handkerchief, a length of cloth, a piece of linen, and so on. 
Money offerings almost all went into the monk’s jug. The room 
was full of people, at least a dozen visitors, of whom two were 
sitting with Semyon Yakovlevitch on the other side of the partition. 
One was a grey-headed old pilgrim of the peasant class, and the 
other a little, dried-up monk, who sat demurely, with his eyes 


308 THE POSSESSED 


cast down. The other visitors were all standing on the near 
side of the partition, and were mostly, too, of the peasant class, 
except one elderly and poverty-stricken lady, one landowner, and 
a stout merchant, who had come from the district town, a man 
with a big beard, dressed in the Russian style, though he was 
known to be worth a hundred thousand. 

All were waiting for their chance, not daring to speak of them- 
selves. Four were on their knees, but the one who attracted 
most attention was the landowner, a stout man of forty-five, 
kneeling right at the partition, more conspicuous than any one, 
waiting reverently for a propitious word or look from Semyon 
Yakovlevitch. He had been there for about an hour already, 
but the saint still did not notice him. 

Our ladies crowded right up to the partition, whispering gaily 
and laughingly together. They pushed aside or got in front of 
all the other visitors, even those on their knees, except the land- 
owner, who remained obstinately in his prominent position 
even holding on to the partition. Merry and greedily inquisitive 
eyes were turned upon Semyon Yakovlevitch, as well as lorgnettes, 
pince-nez, and even opera-glasses. liyamshin, at any rate, 
looked through an opera-glass. Semyon Yakovlevitch calmly 
and lazily scanned all with his little eyes. 

‘“‘ Milovzors! Milovzors!’”’ he deigned to pronounce, in a 
hoarse bass, and slightly staccato. 

All our party laughed : ‘“* What’s the meaning of “ Milovzors ’?”’ 
But Semyon Yakovlevitch relapsed into silence, and finished 
his potatoes. Presently he wiped his lips with his napkin, and 
they handed him tea. 

As a rule, he did not take tea alone, but poured out some for 
his’ visitors, but by no means for all, usually pointing himself to 
those he wished to honour. And his choice always surprised 
people by its unexpectedness. Passing by the wealthy and the 
high-placed, he sometimes pitched upon a peasant or some 
decrepit old woman. Another time he would pass over the beggars 
to honour some fat wealthy merchant. Tea was served diffe- 
rently, too, to different people, sugar was put into some of the 
glasses and handed separately with others, while some got it 
without any sugar at all. This time the favoured one was the 
monk sitting by him, who had sugar put in; and the old pilgrim, 
to whom it was given without any sugar. The fat monk with the 
jug, from the monastery, for some reason had none handed to 
him at all, though up till then he had had his glass every day. — 


ON THE EVE OF THE FETE ) 309 


“Semyon Yokovlevitch, do say something to me. I’ve been 
longing to make your acquaintance for ever so long,” carolled 
the gorgeously dressed lady from our carriage, screwing up her 
eyes and smiling. She was the lady who had observed that one 
_ must not be squeamish about one’s amusements, so long as they 
were interesting. Semyon Yakovlevitch did not even look at 
her. The kneeling landowner uttered a deep, sonorous sigh, 
like the sound of a big pair of bellows. 

“With sugar in it!’ said Semyon Yakovlevitch suddenly, 
pointing to the wealthy merchant. The latter moved forward 
and stood beside the kneeling gentleman. 

“Some more sugar for him!”’ ordered Semyon Yakovlevitch, 
after the glass had already been poured out. They put some 
more in. ‘‘ More, more, forhim!’ More was putin a third time, 
- andagain a fourth. The merchant began submissively drinking 
his syrup. 

““ Heavens !’’ whispered the people, crossing themselves. The 
kneeling gentleman again heaved a deep, sonorous sigh. 

“Father! Semyon Yakovlevitch!’’ The voice of the poor 
ady rang out all at once plaintively, though so sharply that it 
was startling. Our party had shoved her back to the wall. 
“A whole hour, dear father, ve been waiting for grace. Speak 
to me. Consider my case in my helplessness.”’ 

*“‘ Ask her,” said Semyon Yakovlevitch to the verger, who 
went to the partition. 

*“Have you done what Semyon Yakovlevitch bade you last 
time ?” he asked the widow in a soft and measured voice. 

“Done it! Father Semyon Yakovlevitch. How can one do 
it with them ?”’ wailed the widow. ‘“‘ They’re cannibals ; they’re 
lodging a complaint against me, in the court; they threaten to 
take it to the senate. That’s how they treat their own mother !” 

‘Give her !”’ Semyon Yakovlevitch pointed to a sugar-loaf. 
The boy skipped up, seized the sugar-loaf and dragged it to the 
widow. 

“Ach, father; great is your merciful kindness. What am I 
to do with so much ?”’ wailed the widow. 

“More, more,” said Semyon Yakovlevitch lavishly. 

They dragged her another sugar-loaf. “More, more!” the 
saint commanded. ‘They took her a third, and finally a fourth. 
The widow was surrounded with sugar on all sides. The monk 
from the monastery sighed; all this might have gone to the 
monastery that day as it had done on former occasions 


310 THE POSSESSED 


‘‘ What am I to do with so much,” the widow sighed obse- 
quiously. ‘‘It’s enough to make one person sick! ... Is it 
some sort of a prophecy, father ? ”’ 

‘‘ Be sure it’s by way of a prophecy,”’ said some one in the crowd. 

‘* Another pound for her, another!’’ Semyon Yakovlevitch 
persisted. | 

There was a whole sugar-loaf still on the table, but the saint 
ordered a pound to be given, and they gave her a pound. 

‘‘ Lord have mercy on us!” gasped the people, crossing them- 
selves. ‘‘ It’s surely a prophecy.” 

‘‘Sweeten your heart for the future with mercy and loving 
kindness, and then come to make complaints against your own 
children; bone of your bone. That’s what we must take this 
emblem to mean,” the stout monk from the monastery, who had | 
had no tea given to him, said softly but self-complacently, 
taking upon himself the rdéle of interpreter in an access of wounded 
vanity. 

‘‘ What are you saying, father?” cried the widow, suddenly 
infuriated. ‘‘ Why, they dragged me into the fire with a rope 
round me when the Verhishins’ house was burnt, and they 
locked up a dead cat in my chest. They are ready to do any 
villainy) debut 

‘“ Away with her! Away with her!’ Semyon Yakovlevitch 
said suddenly, waving his hands. 

The verger and the boy dashed through the partition. The 
verger took the widow by the arm, and without resisting she 
trailed to the door, keeping her eyes fixed on the loaves of 
sugar that had been bestowed on her, which the boy dragged 
after her. 

‘““Qne to be taken away. Take it away,’ Semyon Yakovle- 
vitch commanded to the servant like a workman, who remained 
with him. The latter rushed after the retreating woman, and 
the three servants returned somewhat later bringing back one 
loaf of sugar which had been presented to the widow and now 
taken away from her. She carried off three, however. 

““Semyon Yakovlevitch,”’ said a voice at the door. “I 
dreamt of a bird, a jackdaw; it flew out of the water and flew 
into the fire. What does the dream mean ?”’ 

“ Frost,’ Semyon Yakovlevitch pronounced. 

““Semyon Yakovlevitch, why don’t you answer me all this 
time ? I’ve been interested in you ever so long,” the lady of our 
party began again. 


ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 311 


“ Ask him !”’ said Semyon Yakovlevitch, not heeding her, but 
pointing to the kneeling gentleman. 

The monk from the monastery to whom the order was given 
moved sedately to the kneeling figure. 

““How have you sinned ? And was not some command laid 
upon you 2?” 

“Not to fight ; not to give the rein to my hands,” answered 
the kneeling gentleman hoarsely. 

““ Have you obeyed ? ” asked the monk. 

“I cannot obey. My own strength gets the better of me.” 

_ Away with him, away with him! With a broom, with a 
broom!” cried Semyon Yakovlevitch, waving his hands. The 
gentleman rushed out of the room without waiting for this 
penalty. 

‘ He’s left a gold piece where he knelt,” observed the monk, 
picking up a half-imperial. 

“For him!” said the saint, pointing to the rich merchant. 
The latter dared not refuse it, and took it. 

‘* Gold to gold,”’ the monk from the monastery could not refrain 
from saying. 

“‘ And give him some with sugar in it,”’ said the saint, pointing 
to Mavriky Nikolaevitch. The servant poured out the tea and 
took it by mistake to the dandy with the pince-nez. 

‘* The long one, the long one ! ’? Semyon Yakovlevitch corrected 
him. 

Mavriky Nikolaevitch took the glass, made a military half- 
bow, and began drinking it. I don’t know why, but all our party 
burst into peals of laughter. 

‘“‘ Mavriky Nikolaevitch,”’ cried Liza, addressing him suddenly. 
“That kneeling gentleman has gone away. You kneel down 
in his place.” 

Mavriky Nikolaevitch looked at her in amazement. 

“TI beg you to. You'll do me the greatest favour. Listen, 
Mavriky Nikolaevitch,” she went on, speaking in an emphatic, 
obstinate, excited, and rapid voice. ‘‘ You must kneel down; 
I must see you kneel down. If you won't, don’t come near me. 
I insist, I insist ! ” 

I don’t know what she meant by it; but she insisted upon it 
relentlessly, as though she were in a fit. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, 
as we shall see later, set down these capricious impulses, which 
had been particularly frequent of late, to outbreaks of blind 
hatred for him, not due to spite, for, on the contrary, she esteemed 


312 THE POSSESSED 


him, loved him, and respected him, and he knew that himself— 
but from a peculiar unconscious hatred which at times she could 
not control. 

In silence he gave his cup to an old woman standing behind 
him, opened the door of the partition, and, without being invited, 
stepped into Semyon Yakovlevitch’s private apartment, and 
knelt down in the middle of the room in sight of all. I imagine 
that he was deeply shocked in his candid and delicate heart 
by Liza’s coarse and mocking freak before the whole company. 
Perhaps he imagined that she would feel ashamed of herself, 
seeing his humiliation, on which she had so insisted. Of course 
no one but he would have dreamt of bringing a woman to reason 
by so naive and risky a proceeding. He remained kneeling with 
his imperturbable gravity—long, tall, awkward, and ridiculous. 
But our party did not laugh. The unexpectedness of the action 
produced a painful shock. Every one looked at Liza. 

* Anoint, anoint !’’ muttered Semyon Yakovlevitch. 

Liza suddenly turned white, cried out, and rushed through the 
partition. Then a rapid and hysterical scene followed. She 
began pulling Mavriky Nikolaevitch up with all her might, 
tugging at his elbows with both hands. | : 

“Get up! Get up!” she screamed, as though she were 
crazy. ‘‘Get up at once, at once. How dare you ?” 

Mavriky Nikolaevitch got up from his knees. She clutched 
his arms above the elbow and looked intently into his face. 
There was terror in her expression. 

‘““Milovzors! .Milovzors!’? Semyon Yakovlevitch repeated 
again. 

She dragged Mavriky Nikolaevitch back to the other part 
of the room at last. There was some commotion in all our 
company. The lady from our carriage, probably intending to 
relieve the situation, loudly and shrilly asked the saint for the 
third time, with an affected smile : 

‘Well, Semyon Yakovlevitch, won’t you utter some saying 
for me? I’ve been reckoning so much on you.” 

** Out with the , out with the »’ said Semyon Yakovle- 
vitch, suddenly addressing her, with an extremely indecent 
word. The words were uttered savagely, and with horrifying 
distinctness. Our ladies shrieked, and rushed headlong away, 
while the gentlemen escorting them burst into Homeric laughter, 
So ended our visit to Semyon Yakovlevitch. 

At this point, however, there took place, Iam told, an extremely 








ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 313 


enigmatic incident, and, I must own, it was chiefly on account 
of it that I have described this expedition so minutely. 

Iam told that when all flocked out, Liza, supported by Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch, was jostled against Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch in 
the crush in the doorway. I must mention that since that Sunday 
morning when she fainted they had not approached each other, 
nor exchanged a word, though they had met more than once. 
I saw them brought together in the doorway. I fancied they both 
stood still for an instant, and looked, as it were, strangely at 
one another, but I may not have seen rightly in the crowd. It 
is asserted, on the contrary, and quite seriously, that Liza, glancing 
at Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, quickly raised her hand to the level 
of his face, and would certainly have struck him if he had not 
drawn back in time. Perhaps she was displeased with the 
expression of his face, or the way he smiled, particularly just 
after such an episode with Mavriky Nikolaevitch. I must admit 
I saw nothing myself, but all the others declared they had, 
though they certainly could not all have seen it in such a crush, 
though perhaps some may have. But I did not believe it at 
the time. I remember, however, that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
was rather pale all the way home. 


It 


Almost at the same time, and certainly on the same day, 
the interview at last took place between Stepan Trofimoviich 
and Varvara Petrovna. She had long had this meeting in her 
mind, and had sent word about it to her former friend, but for 
some reason she had kept putting it off till then. It took 
place at Skvoreshniki: Varvara Petrovna arrived at her country 
house all in a bustle : it had been definitely decided the evening 
before that the féte was to take place at the marshal’s, but 
Varvara Petrovna’s rapid brain at once grasped that no one 
could prevent her from afterwards giving her own special 
entertainment at Skvoreshniki, and again assembling the whole 
town. Then every one could see for themselves whose house 
was best, and in which more taste was displayed in receiving 
guests and giving a ball. Altogether she was hardly to be recog- 
nised. She seemed completely transformed, and instead of the 
unapproachable “‘ noble lady”’ (Stepan Trofimovitch’s expression) 
seemed changed into the most commonplace, whimsical society 


314 THE POSSESSED 


woman. But perhaps this may only have been on the 
surface. 

When she reached the empty house she had gone through 
all the rooms, accompanied by her faithful old butler, Alexey 
Yegorytch, and by Fomushka, a man who had seen much of 
life and was a specialist in decoration. They began to consult 
and deliberate: what furniture was to be brought from the 
town house, what things, what pictures, where they were to be 
put, how the conservatories and flowers could be put to the best 
use, where to put new curtains, where to have the refreshment 
rooms, whether one or two, and so on and so on. And, behold, 
in the midst of this exciting bustle she suddenly took it into her 
head to send for Stepan Trofimovitch. 

The latter had long before received notice ne this interview 
and was prepared for it, and he had every day been expecting 
just such a sudden summons. As he got into the carriage he 
crossed himself: his fate was being decided. He found his 
friend in the big drawing-room on the little sofa in the recess, 
before a little marble table with a pencil and paper in her hands. 
Fomushka, with a yard measure, was measuring the height 
of the galleries and the windows, while Varvara Petrovna 
herself was writing down the numbers and making notes on the 
margin. She nodded in Stepan Trofimovitch’s direction without 
breaking off from what she was doing, and when the latter 
muttered some sort of greeting, she hurriedly gave him her hand, 
and without looking at him motioned him to a seat beside 
her. 

‘“‘T sat waiting for five minutes, ‘mastering my heart,’ ”’ he 
told me afterwards. “I saw before me not the woman whom 
I had known for twenty years. An absolute conviction that all 
was over gave me a strength which astounded even her. I swear 
that she was surprised at my stoicism in that last hour.’ 

Varvara Petrovna suddenly put down her pencil on the table 
and turned quickly to Stepan Trofimovitch. 

“Stepan Trofimovitch, we have to talk of business. I’m sure 
you have prepared all your fervent words and various phrases, 
but we’d better go straight to the point, hadn’t we ?”’ 

She had been in too great a hurry to show the tone she meant 
to take. And what might not come next ? 

“Wait, be quiet; let me speak. Afterwards you shall, 
though really I don’t know what you can answer me,” she said 
ina rapid patter, “ The twelve hundred roubles of your pension 


ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 315 


I consider a sacred obligation to pay you as long as you live. 
Though why a sacred obligation, simply a contract ; that would 
be a great deal more real, wouldn’t it ? If you like, we'll write 
itout. Special arrangements have been made in case of my death. 
But you are receiving from me at present lodging, servants, and 
your maintenance in addition. Reckoning that in money it 
would amount to fifteen hundred roubles, wouldn’t it? I will 
add another three hundred roubles, making three thousand 
roubles in all. Will that be enough a year for you? I think 
that’s not too little? In any extreme emergency I would add 
something more. And so, take your money, send me back my 
servants, and live by yourself where you like in Petersburg, in 
Moscow, abroad, or here, only not with me. Do you hear ?”’ 

‘“‘ Only lately those lips dictated to me as imperatively and as 
suddenly very different demands,’’ said Stepan Trofimovitch 
slowly and with sorrowful distinctness. “I submitted... 
and danced the Cossack dance to please you. Out, la comparaison 
peut étre permise. C’était comme un petit Cosaque du Don quit 
sautait sur sa propre tombe. Now...” 

“Stop, Stepan Trofimovitch, you are horribly long-winded. 
You didn’t dance, but came to see me in a new tie, new linen, 
gloves, scented and pomatumed. I assure you that you were 
very anxious to get married yourself ; it was written on your face, 
and I assure you a most unseemly expression it was. If I did 
not mention it to you at the time, it was simply out of delicacy. 
But you wished it, you wanted to be married, in spite of the 
abominable things you wrote about me and your betrothed. Now 
it’s very different. And what has the Cosaque du Don to do 
with it, and what tomb do you mean? I don’t understand the 
comparison. On the contrary, you have only to live. Live as 
long as you can. I shall be delighted.” 

‘In an almshouse ? ”’ 

**In an almshouse ? People don’t go into almshouses with 
three thousand roubles a year. Ah, I remember,” she laughed. 
‘“* Pyotr Stepanovitch did joke about an almshouse once. Bah, 
there certainly is a special almshouse, which is worth considering. 
It’s for persons who are highly respectable; there are colonels 
there, and there’s positively one general who wants to get into 
it. If you went into it with all your money, you would find 
peace, comfort, servants to wait on you. There you could 
occupy yourself with study, and could always make up a party 
for cards,” | 


316 THE POSSESSED 


‘* Passons.” 

‘* Passons ?”? Varvara Petrovna winced. ‘‘ But, if so, that’s 
all. You’ve been informed that we shall live henceforward 
entirely apart.” 

‘* And that’s all?’ he said. ‘‘ All that’s left of twenty years ? 
Our last farewell ? ”’ 

‘* You’re awfully fond of these exclamations, Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch. It’s not at all the fashion. Nowadays people talk 
roughly but simply. You keep harping on our twenty years ! 
Twenty years of mutual vanity, and nothing more. Every 
letter you’ve written me was written not for me but for posterity. 
Yow ’re a stylist, and not a friend, and friendship is only a splendid 
word. In reality—a mutual exchange of sloppiness. . . .”’ 

“Good heavens! How many sayings not yourown! Lessons 
learned by heart! They’ve already put their uniform on you 
too. You, too, are rejoicing; you, too, are basking in the 
sunshine. Chére, chére, for what a mess of pottage you have 
sold them your freedom!” 

‘“Y’m not a parrot, to repeat other people’s phrases !”’ cried 
Varvara Petrovna, boiling over. “ You may be sure I have 
stored up many sayings of my own. What have you been 
doing for me all these twenty years? You refused me even 
the books I ordered for you, though, except for the binder, they 
would have remained uncut. What did you give me to read 
when I asked you during those first years to be my guide? 
Always Kapfig, and nothing but Kapfig. You were jealous of my 
culture even, and took measures. And all the while every one’s 
laughing at you. I must confess I always considered you only asa 
critic. You are a literary critic and nothing more. When on 
the way to Petersburg I told you that I meant to found a journal 
and to devote my whole life to it, you looked at me ironically 
at once, and suddenly became horribly supercilious.” 

“That was not that, not that. ... we were afraid then of 
persecution. . . .” 

“Tt was just that. And you couldn’t have been afraid of 
persecution in Petersburg at that time. Do you remember 
that in February, too, when the news of the emancipation came, 
you ran to me in a panic, and demanded that I should at once 
give you a written statement that the proposed magazine 
had nothing to do with you; that the young people had been 
coming to see me and not you; that you were only a tutor 
who lived in the house, only because he had not yet received 


ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 317 


his salary. Isn’t that so? Do remember that? You have 
distinguished yourself all your life, Stepan Trofimovitch.” 
“That was only a moment of weakness, a moment when we 
were alone,’ he exclaimed mournfully. ‘“‘ But is it possible, 
is it possible, to break off everything for the sake of such petty 
impressions ? Can it be that nothing more has been left between 
us after those long years ? ”’ 

‘You are horribly calculating ; you keep trying to leave me 
in your debt. When you came back from abroad you looked 
down upon me and wouldn’t let me utter a word, but when I came 
back myself and talked to you afterwards of my impressions of 
the Madonna, you wouldn’t hear me, you began smiling con- 
descendingly into your cravat, as though I were incapable of 
the same feelings as you.” 

“It was not so. It was probably not so. J’at oublié!” 

‘**No; it was so,” she answered, ‘“‘ and, what’s more, you’ve 
nothing to pride yourself on. That’s all nonsense, and one of 
your fancies. Now, there’s no one, absolutely no one, in ecstasies 
over the Madonna ; no one wastes time over it except old men 
who are hopelessly out of date. That’s established.” 

‘* Established, is it ? ”’ 

“It’s of no use whatever. This jug’s of use because one can 
pour water into it. This pencil’s of use because you can write any- 
thing with it.. But that woman’s face is inferior to any face in 
nature. Try drawing an apple, and put a real apple beside it. 
Which would you take? You wouldn’t make a mistake, ’m 
sure. This is what all our theories amount to, now that the 
first light of free investigation has dawned upon them.” 

‘* Indeed, indeed.”’ 

‘“‘ You laugh ironically. And what used you to say to me about 
charity ? Yet the enjoyment derived from charity is a haughty 
and immoral enjoyment. The rich man’s enjoyment in his 
wealth, his power, and in the comparison of his importance with 
the poor. Charity corrupts giver and taker alike; and, what’s 
more, does not attain it’s object, as it only increases poverty. 
Fathers who don’t want to work crowd round the charitable 
like gamblers round the gambling-table, hoping for gain, while 
the pitiful farthings that are flung them are a hundred times 
too little. Have you given away much in your life? Less than 
a rouble, if you try and think. Try to remember when last 
you gave away anything; it'll be two years ago, maybe four. 
You make an outcry and only hinder things. Charity ought 


318 THE POSSESSED 


to be forbidden by law, even in the present state of society. 
In the new régime there will be no poor at all.”’ 

‘“‘ Oh, what an eruption of borrowed phrases! So it’s come to 
the new régime already ? Unhappy woman, God help you!” 

‘Yes; it has, Stepan Trofimovitch. You carefully concealed 
all these new ideas from me, though every one’s familiar with 
them nowadays. And you did it simply out of jealousy, so as 
to have power over me. So that now even that Yulia is a 
hundred miles ahead of me. But now my eyes have been opened. 
I have defended you, Stepan Trofimovitch, all I could, but there 
is no one who does not blame you.” 

‘‘ Knough!’”’ said he, getting up from his seat. ‘‘ Enough! 
And what can I wish you now, unless it’s repentance ? ”’ 

“Sit still a minute, Stepan Trofimovitch. I have another 
question to ask you. You’ve been told of the invitation to 
read at the literary matinée. It was arranged through me. 
Tell me what you’re going to read ? ” 

‘Why, about that very Queen of Queens, that ideal of 
humanity, the Sistine Madonna, who to your thinking is 
inferior to a glass or a pencil.” 

‘So yowre not taking something historical?” said Varvara 
Petrovna in mournful surprise. ‘‘ But they won't listen to you. 
You've got that Madonna on your brain. You seem bent on 
putting every one to sleep! Let me assure you, Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch, I am speaking entirely in your own interest. It would 
be a different matter if you would take some short but interesting 
story of medizval court life from Spanish history, or, better still, 
some anecdote, and pad it out with other anecdotes and witty 
phrases of your own. ‘There were magnificent courts then; 
ladies, you know, poisonings. Karmazinov says it would be 
strange if you couldn’t read something interesting from Spanish 
history.”’ 

‘* Karmazinov—that fool who has written himself out—looking 
for a subject for me !”’ 

‘“ Karmazinov, that almost imperial intellect. You are too 
free in your language, Stepan Trofimovitch.”’ 

‘Your Karmazinov is a spiteful old woman whose day is 
over. Chére, chére, how long have you been so enslaved by 
them? Oh God!” 

“IT can’t endure him even now for the airs he gives himself. 
But I do justice to his intellect, Irepeat, I have done my best 
to defend you as far as I could. And why do you insist on being 


ON THE EVE OF THE FETE 319 


absurd and tedious ? On the contrary, come on to the platform 
with a dignified smile as the representative of the last generation, 
and tell them two or three anecdotes in your witty way, as only 
you can tell things sometimes. Though you may be an old 
man now, though you may belong to a past age, though you may 
have dropped behind them, in fact, yet you’ll recognise it yourself, 
with a smile, in your preface, and all will see that you’re an 
amiable, good-natured, witty relic . . . in brief, a man of the 
old savour, and so far advanced as to be capable of appreciating 
at their value all the absurdities of certain ideas which you have 
hitherto followed. Come, as a favour to me, I beg you.” 

“Chere, enough. Don’t ask me. I can’t. I shall: speak 
of the Madonna, but I shall raise a storm that will either crush 
them all or shatter me alone.” 

‘“‘ Tt will certainly be you alone, Stepan Trofimovitch.”’ 

‘Such is my fate. I will speak of the contemptible slave, of 
the stinking, depraved fiunkey who will first climb a ladder with 
scissors in his hands, and slash to pieces the divine image of the 
great ideal, in the name of equality, envy, and. . . digestion. 
Let my curse thunder out upon them, and then—then . . .” 

‘The madhouse ? ” 

‘Perhaps. Butin any case, whether I shall be left vanquished 
or victorious, that very evening I shall take my bag, my beggar’s 
bag. I shall\leave all my goods and chattels, all your presents, 
all your pensions and promises of future benefits, and go forth 
on foot to end my life a tutor in a merchant’s family or to die 
somewhere of hunger in a ditch. I have said it. Alea jacta est.” 

He got up again. 

‘*T’ve been convinced for years,” said Varvara Petrovna, 
getting up with flashing eyes, “that your only object in life is 
to put me and my house to shame by your calumnies! What 
do you mean by being a tutor in a merchant’s family or dying in 
a ditch ? It’s spite, calumny, and nothing more.”’ 

‘“‘ You have always despised me. But I will end like a knight, 
faithful to my lady. Your good opinion has always been dearer 
to me than anything. From this moment I will take nothing, 
but will worship you disinterestedly.” 

“‘ How stupid that is!”’ | 

‘‘ You have never respected me. I may have had a mass of 
weaknesses. Yes, I have sponged on you. I speak the language 
of nihilism, but sponging has never been the guiding motive of 
my action. It has happened so of itself. I don’t know how. 


320 | THE POSSESSED 


.. . L always imagined there was something higher than meat 
and drink between us, and—lI’ve never, never been a scoundrel ! 
And so, to take the open road, to set things right. I set off late, 
late autumn out of doors, the mist lies over the fields, the hoar- 
frost of old age covers the road before me, and the wind howls 
about the approaching grave. ... But so forward, forward, 
on my new way 


‘ Filled with purest love and fervour, 
Faith which my sweet dream did yield.’ 


Oh, my dreams. Farewell. Twenty years. Alea jacta est!” 

His face was wet with a sudden gush of tears. He took 
his hat. . 

‘““T don’t understand Latin,” said Varvara Petrovna, doing 
her best to control herself. 

Who knows, perhaps, she too felt like crying. But caprice 
and indignation once more got the upper hand. 

‘‘T know only one thing, that all this is childish nonsense. 
You will never be capable of carrying out your threats, which 
are a mass of egoism. You will set off nowhere, to no merchant ; 
you'll end very peaceably on my hands, taking your pension, and 
receiving your utterly impossible friends on Tuesdays. Good-bye, 
Stepan Trofimovitch.” 

‘* Alea jacta est!’? He made her a deep bow, and returned home, 
almost dead with emotion.. 


CHAPTER VI 
PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 


I 


THE date of the féte was definitely fixed, and Von Lembke became 
more and more depressed. He was full of strange and sinister 
forebodings, and this made Yulia Mihailovna seriously uneasy. 
Indeed, things were not altogether satisfactory. Our mild 
governor had left the affairs of the province a little out of gear ; 
at the moment we were threatened with cholera; serious out- 
breaks of cattle plague had appeared in several places; fires 
were prevalent that summer in towns and villages ; whilst among 
the peasantry foolish rumours of incendiarism grew stronger and 
stronger. Cases of robbery were twice as numerous as usual. 
But all this, of course, would have been perfectly ordinary had 
there been no other and more weighty reasons to disturb the 
equanimity of Andrey Antonovitch, who had till then been in 
good spirits. 

What struck Yulia Mihailovna most of all was that he became 
more silent and, strange to say, more secretive every day. Yet 
it was hard to imagine what he had to hide. It is true that 
he rarely opposed her and as a rule followed her lead without 
question. At her instigation, for instance, two or three regula- 
tions of a risky and hardly legal character were introduced with 
the object of strengthening the authority of the governor. 
There were several ominous instances of transgressions being 
condoned with the same end in view ; persons who deserved to 
be sent to prison and Siberia were, solely because she insisted, 
recommended for promotion. Certain complaints and inquiries 
were deliberately and systematically ignored. All this came 
out later on. Not only did Lembke sign everything, but he 
did not even go into the question of the share taken by his wife 
in the execution of his duties. On the other hand, he began at 
times to be restive about “‘the most trifling matters,” to the 
surprise of Yulia Mihailovna. No doubt he felt the need to make 
up for the days of suppression by brief moments of mutiny. 
Unluckily, Yulia Mihailovna was unable, for all her insight, to 


understand this honourable punctiliousness in an honourable 
321 % 


322 THE POSSESSED 


character. Alas, she had no thought to spare for that, and that 
was the source of many misunderstandings. 

There are some things of which it is not suitable for me ae 
write, and indeed I am “not in a position to do so. It is not my 
business to discuss the blunders of administration either, and I 
prefer to leave out this administrative aspect of the subject 
altogether. In the chronicle I have begun I’ve set before myself 
a different task. Moreover a great deal will be brought to light 
by. the Commission of Inquiry which has just been appointed for 
our province; it’s only a matter of waiting a little. Certain 
explanations, however, cannot be omitted. 

But to return to Yulia Mihailovna. The poor lady (I feel very 
sorry for her) might have attained all that attracted and allured 
ner (renown and so on) without any such violent and eccentric 
actions as she resolved upon at the very first step. But either 
from an exaggerated passion for the romantic or from the frequently 
blighted hopes of her youth, she felt suddenly, at the change of 
her fortunes, that she had become one of the specially elect, 
almost God’s anointed, “over whom there gleamed a burning 
tongue of fire,’ and this tongue of flame was the root of the 
mischief, for, after all, it is not like a chignon, which will fit any 
woman’s head. But there is nothing of which it is more difficult 
to convince a2 woman than of this; on the contrary, anyone 
who cares to encourage the delusion in her will always be sure 
to meet with success. And people vied with one another in 
encouraging the delusion in Yulia Mihailovna. The poor woman 
became at once the sport of conflicting influences, while fully 
persuaded, of her own originality. Many clever people feathered 
their nests and took advantage of her simplicity during the 
brief period of her rule in the province. And what a jumble 
there: was under this assumption of independence! She was 
fascinated at the same time by the aristocratic element and the 
system of big landed properties and the increase of the governor’s 
power, and the democratic element, and the new reforms and 
discipline, and free-thinking and stray Socialistic notions, and the 
correct tone of the aristocratic salon and the free-and-easy, almost 
pot-house, manners of the young people that surrounded. her. 
She dreamed of “‘ giving happiness'’’’ and reconciling the irrecon- 
cilable, or, rather, of uniting all and everything in the adoration 
of her own person. She had favourites too; she was particularly 
fond of Pyotr Stepanovitch, who had recourse at times to the 
grossest flattery in dealing with her. But she was attracted by 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 323 


him for another reason, an amazing one, and most characteristic 
of the poor lady: she was always hoping that he would reveal 
to her a regular conspiracy against the government. Difficult 
as it is to imagine such a thing, it really was the case. She 
fancied for some reason that there must be a nihilist plot con- 
cealed in the province. By his silence at one time and his hints 
at another Pyotr Stepanovitch did much to strengthen this 
strange idea in her. She imagined that he was in communication 
with every revolutionary element in Russia, but at the same 
time passionately devoted to her. To discover the plot, to 
receive the gratitude of the government, to enter on a brilliant 
career, to influence the young “ by kindness,’ and to restrain 
them from extremes—all these dreams existed side by side in 
her fantastic brain. She had saved Pyotr Stepanovitch, she had 
- conquered him (of this she was for some reason firmly convinced) ; 
she would save others. None, none of them should perish, she 
should save them all ; she would pick them out ; she would send 
in the right report of them ; she would act in the interests of the 
loftiest justice, and perhaps posterity and Russian. liberalism 
would bless her name ; yet the conspiracy would be discovered. 
Every advantage at once. 

Still it was essential that Andrey Antonovitch should be in 
rather better spirits before the festival. He must be cheered 
up and reassured. For this purpose she sent Pyotr Stepanovitch 
to him in the hope that he would relieve his depression by some 
means of consolation best known to himself, perhaps by giving 
him some information, so to speak, first hand. She put implicit 
faith in his dexterity. 

It was some time since Pyotr Stepanovitch had been in Mr. von 
-Lembke’s study. He popped in on him just when the sufferer 
was in a most stubborn mood. 


il 


A combination of circumstances had arisen which Mr. von 
Lembke was quite unable to deal with. In the very district 
where Pyotr Stepanovitch had been having a festive time a sub-. 
lieutenant had been called up to be censured by his immediate 
superior, and the reproof was given in the presence of the whole 
company. The sub-lieutenant was a young man fresh from 
Petersburg, always silent and morose, of dignified appearance 


394 THE POSSESSED 


though small, stout, and rosy-cheeked. He resented the repri- 
mand and suddenly, with a startling shriek that astonished the 
whole company, he charged at his superior officer with his head 
bent down like a wild beast’s, struck him, and bit him on the 
shoulder with all his might; they had difficulty in getting him 
off. There was no doubt that he had gone out of his mind ; 
anyway, it became known that of late he had been observed 
performing incredibly strange actions. He had, for instance, 
flung two ikons belonging to his landlady out of his lodgings 
and smashed up one of them with an axe; in his own room he 
had, on three stands resembling lecterns, laid out the works of 
Vogt, Moleschott, and Biichner, and before each lectern he used 
to burn a church wax-candle. From the number of books 
‘found in his rooms it could be gathered that he was a well-read 
man. If he had had fifty thousand frances he would perhaps have 
sailed to the island of Marquisas like the “‘ cadet”? to whom 
Herzen alludes with such sprightly humour in one of his writings. 
When he was seized, whole bundles of the most desperate mani- 
festoes were found in his pockets and his lodgings. 

Manifestoes are a trivial matter too, and to my thinking not 
‘worth troubling about. We have seen plenty of them. Besides, 
they were not new manifestoes; they were, it was said later, 
just the same as had been circulated in the X province, and 
Liputin, who had travelled in that district and the neighbouring 
province six weeks previously, declared that he had seen exactly 
the same leaflets there then. But what struck Andrey Antono- 
vitch most was that the overseer of Shpigulin’s factory had brought 
the police just at the same time two or three packets of exactly 
the same leaflets as had been found on the lieutenant. The 
bundles, which had been dropped in the factory in the night, 
had not been opened, and none of the factory-hands had had time 
to read one of them. The incident was a trivial one, but it set 
Andrey Antonovitch pondering deeply. The position presented 
itself to him in an unpleasantly complicated light. 

In this factory the famous “Shpigulin scandal” was just 
then brewing, which made so much talk among us and got into 
the Petersburg and Moscow papers with all sorts of variations. 
Three weeks previously one of the hands had fallen ill and died 
of Asiatic cholera; then several others were stricken down. 
The whole town was in a panic, for the cholera was coming nearer 
and nearer and had reached the neighbouring province. I may 
observe that satisfactory sanitary measures had been, so far as 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 325 


possible, taken to meet the unexpected guest. But the factory 
belonging to the Shpigulins, who were millionaires and well- 
connected people, had somehow been overlooked. And there 
was a sudden outcry from every one that this factory was the 
hot-bed of infection, that the factory itself, and especially the 
quarters inhabited by the workpeople, were so inveterately filthy 
that even if cholera had not been in the neighbourhood there 
might well have been an outbreak there. Steps were immediately 
taken, of course, and Andrey Antonovitch vigorously insisted 
on their being carried out without delay within three weeks. 
The factory was cleansed, but the Shpigulins, for some unknown 
reason, closed it. One of the Shpigulin brothers always lived 
in Petersburg and the other went away to Moscow when the 
order was given for cleansing the factory. The overseer pro- 
ceeded to pay off the workpeople and, as it appeared, cheated 
them shamelessly. The hands began to complain among them- 
selves, asking to be paid fairly, and foolishly went to the police, 
though without much disturbance, for they were not so very 
much excited. It was just at this moment that the manifestoes 
were brought to Andrey Antonovitch by the overseer. 

Pyotr Stepanovitch popped into the study unannounced, like 
an intimate friend and one of the family; besides, he had a 
message from Yulia Mihailovna. Seeing him, Lembke frowned 
grimly and stood still at the table without welcoming him. Till 
that moment he had been pacing up and down the study and 
had been discussing something {éte-ad-téte with his clerk Blum, 
a very clumsy and surly German whom he had brought with 
him from Petersburg, in spite of the violent opposition of 
Yulia Mihailovna. On Pyotr Stepanovitch’s entrance the 
clerk had moved to the door, but had not gone out. Pyotr 
Stepanovitch even fancied that he exchanged significant glances 
with his chief. 

‘“‘ Aha, I’ve caught you at last, you secretive monarch of the 
town!” Pyotr Stepanovitch cried out laughing, and laid his 
hand over the manifesto on hi table. ‘‘ This increases your 
collection, eh ?”’ 

Andrey Antonovitch flushed crimson; his face seemed to 
twitch. 

“ Leave off, leave off at once!” he cried, trembling with 
rage. “And don’t you dare...sir...” 

‘‘ What’s the matter with you ?. You seem to be angry !”’ 

“ Allow me to inform you, sir, that I’ve no intention of putting 


326 THE POSSESSED 


up with your sans fagon henceforward, and I beg you to re- 
member". §.0'.)” 

“Why, dafnti it all, he is in earnest ! ”’ 

“Hold your tongue, hold your tongue ’’—Von Lembke stamped 
on the carpet—‘‘ and don’t dare...” 

God knows what it might have come to. Alas, there was one 
circumstance involved in the matter of which neither Pyotr 
Stepanovitch nor even Yulia Mihailovna herself had any idea. 
The luckless Andrey Antonovitch had been so greatly upset 
during the last few days that he had begun to be secretly jealous 
of his wife and Pyotr Stepanovitch. In solitude, especially at 
night, he spent some very disagreeable moments. 

‘* Well, I imagined that if a man reads you his novel two days 
running till after midnight and wants to hear your opinion of it, 
he has of his own act discarded official relations, anyway. . . . 
Yulia Mihailovna treats me as a friend ; there’s no making you 
out,” Pyotr Stepanovitch brought out, with a certain dignity 
indeed. “‘ Here is your novel, by the way.” He laid on the 
table a large heavy manuscript rolled up in blue paper. 

Lembke turned red ‘and looked embarrassed. 

*“* Where did you find it ?’’ he asked discreetly, with a rush of 
joy which he was unable to suppress, though he did his utmost 
to conceal it. 

‘Only fancy, done up like this, it rolled under the chest of 
drawers. I must have thrown it down carelessly on the chest 
when I went out. It was only found the day before yesterday, 
when the floor was scrubbed. You did set mea task, ee [st? 

Lembke dropped his eyes sternly. 

“I haven’t slept for the last two nights, thanks to you. It 
was found the day before yesterday, but T kept it, and have 
been reading it ever since. I’ve no time in the day, so I’ve read 
it at night. Well, I don’t like it; it’s not my way of looking 
at things. But that’s no matter; I’ve never set up for being 
a critic, but I couldn’t tear myself away from it, my dear man, 
though I didn’t like it! The fourth and fifth chapters are . ... 
they really are . . . damn it all, they are beyond words! And 
what a lot of humour you’ve packed into it ; it made me laugh ! 
How you can make fun of things sans que cela paraisse! As 
for the ninth and tenth chapters, it’s all about love ; that’s not 
my line, but it’s effective though. I was nearly blubbering over 
Egrenev’ s letter, though you’ve shown him up so cleverly. . 

You know, it’s touching, though at the same time you warit to 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY ‘327 


show the false side of him, as it were, don’t you ? Have I 
guessed right ? But I could simply beat you for the ending. 
For what are you setting up? Why, the same old idol of 
domestic happiness, begetting children and making money ; 
‘they were married and lived ‘happy ever afterwards ’—come, 
it’s too much! You will enchant your readers, for even I 
couldn’t put the book down; but that makes it all the worse ! 
The reading public is as stupid as ever, but it’s the duty. of 
sensible people to wake them up, while you... But that’s 
enough. Good-bye. Don’t be cross another time; I came in 
to you because I had a couple of words to say to you, but you are 
so unaccountable .. .” 

Andrey Antonovitch meantime took his novel and locked it 
up in an oak bookcase, seizing the opportunity to wink to Blum 
to disappear. The latter withdrew with a long, mournful face. 

““T am not unaccountable, I am simply . .. nothing but 
annoyances,’ he muttered, frowning but without anger, and 
sitting down to the table. “Sit down and say what you have 
to say. It’s a long time since I’ve seen you, Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
only don’t burst upon me in the future with such manners... 
sometimes, when one has business, it’s...” 

““My manners are always the same... .” 

*I know, and I believe that you mean nothing by it, but 
sometimes one is worried. . . . Sit down.” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch immediately lolled back on the sofa and 
drew his legs under him. 


It 


‘‘ What sort of worries? Surely not these trifles?” He 
nodded towards the manifesto. ‘“‘I can bring you as many of 
them as you like; I made their acquaintance in X province.” 

‘You mean at the time you were staying there ? ”’ 

“ Of course, it was not in my absence. I remember there was 
a hatchet printed at the top of it. Allowme.” (He took up the 
manifesto.) ‘‘ Yes, there’s the hatchet here too; that’s it, the 
very same.” 

‘* Yes, here’s a hatchet. You see, a hatchet.” 

‘“‘ Well, is it the hatchet that scares you ?” 

“No, it’s not... and I.am not scared; but this business 
it is a business ; there are circumstances.” 


328 THE POSSESSED 


“What sort? That it’s come from the factory ? He he! 
But do you know, at that factory the workpeople will soon be 
writing manifestoes for themselves.” 

‘“‘ What do you mean ?’”’ Von Lembke stared at him severely. 

“What I say. You’ve only to look at them. You are too soft, 
Andrey Antonovitch ; you write novels. But this has to be 
handled in the good old way.” 

‘““ What do you mean by the good old way?) What do you 
mean by advising me? The factory has been cleaned; I gave 
the order and they’ ve cleaned it.’ 

““And the workmen are in rebellion. They ought to be 
flogged, every one of them; that would be the end of it.” 

“In rebellion? That’s nonsense; I gave the order and 
they’ve cleaned it.”’ 

*‘ Ech, you are soft, Andrey Antonovitch ! ” 

“Tn the first place, I am not so soft as you think, and in the 
second place...’ Von Lembke was piqued again. He had 
exerted himself to keep up the conversation with the young man 
from curiosity, wondering if he would tell him anything new. 

“Ha ha, an old acquaintance again,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch 
interrupted, pouncing on another document that lay under a 
paper-weight, something like a manifesto, obviously printed 
abroad and in verse. ‘‘ Oh, come, I know this one by heart, 
“A Noble Personality.’ Let me have a look at it—yes, ‘A 
Noble Personality’ it is. I made acquaintance with that 
personality abroad. Where did you unearth it ?” 

** You say you've seen it abroad ?’”’ Von Lembke said eagerly. 

*“‘T should think so, four months ago, or may be five.” 

“You seem to have seen a great deal abroad.’’ Von Lembke 
looked at him subtly. 

Pyotr Stepanovitch, not heeding him, unfolded the document 
and read the poem aloud : 


‘A NOBLE PERSONALITY 


** He was not of rank exalted, 
He was not of noble birth, 
He was bred among the people 
In the breast of Mother Earth. 
But the malice of the nobles 
And the Tsar's revengeful wrath 
Drove him forth to grief and torture 
On the martyr’s chosen path. 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 329 


He set out to teach the people 
Freedom, love, equality, 

T'o exhort them to resistance ; 

But to flee the penalty 

Of the prison, whip and gallows, 
To a foreign land he went. 

While the people waited hoping 
From Smolensk to far Tashkent, 
Waited eager for his coming 

T’o rebel against their fate, 

T'o arise and crush the T'sardom 
And the nobles’ vicious hate, 

T'o share all the wealth in common, 
And the antiquated thrall 

Of the church, the home and marriage 
T'o abolish once for all.” 


“You got it from that officer, I suppose, eh ?’’ asked Pyotr 
Stepanovitch. 

‘“* Why, do you know that officer, then, too ?” 

“TI should think so. I had a gay time with him there for 
two days; he was bound to go out of his mind.” 

** Perhaps he did not go out of his mind,” 

** You think he didn’t because he began to bite ?”’ 

** But, excuse me, if you saw those verses abroad and then, 
it appears, at that officer’s . . .” 

“What, puzzling, is it? You are putting me through an 
examination, Andrey Antonovitch, I see. You see,’ he began 
suddenly with extraordinary dignity, “‘as to what I saw abroad 
I have already given explanations, and my explanations were 
found satisfactory, otherwise I should not have been gratifying 
this town with my presence. I consider that the question as 
regards me has been settled, and I am not obliged to give any 
further account of myself, not because I am an informer, but 
because I could not help acting as I did. The people who wrote 
to Yulia Mihailovna about me knew what they were talking 
about, and they said I was an honest man... . But that’s 
neither here nor there; I’ve come to see you about a serious 
matter, and it’s as well you’ve sent your chimney-sweep away. 
It’s a matter of importance to me, Andrey Antonovitch. I 
shall have a very great favour to ask of you.” 

“A favour? H’m... by all means; I am waiting and, 


330 THE POSSESSED 


I confess, with curiosity. And I must add, Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
that you surprise me not a little.” 

Von Lembke was in some agitation. Pyotr Stepanovitch 
crossed his legs. 

‘In Petersburg,” he began, “‘I talked freely of most things, 
but there were things—this, for instance’ (he tapped the “‘ Noble 
Personality ”’ with his finger) ‘about which I held my tongue— 
in the first place, because it wasn’t worth talking about, and 
secondly, because I only answered questions. I don’t care to 
put myself forward in such matters ; in that I see the distinction 
between a rogue and an honest man forced by circumstances. 
Well, in short, we'll dismiss that. Butnow ... now that these 
fools . . . now that this has come to the surface and is in your 
hands, and I see that you'll find out all about it—for you are a 
man with eyes and one can’t tell beforehand what you'll do— 
and these fools are still going on, I. ..1... . well, the fact is, 
I’ve come to ask you to save one man, a fool too, most likely 
mad, for the sake of his youth, his misfortunes, in the name 
of your humanity. . .. You can’t be so humane only in the 
novels you manufacture!” he said, breaking off with coarse 
sarcasm and impatience. 

In fact, he was seen to be a straightforward man, awkward 
and impolitic from excess of humane feeling and perhaps from 
excessive sensitiveness—above all, a man of limited intelligence, 
as Von Lembke saw at once with extraordinary subtlety. He 
had indeed long suspected it, especially when during the previous 
week he had, sitting alone in his study at night, secretly cursed 
him with all his heart for the inexplicable way in which he had 
gained Yulia Mihailovna’s good graces. 

‘For whom are you interceding, and what does all this 
mean ?”’ he inquired majestically, trying to conceal his curiosity. 

“It...its...damn it! It’s not my fault that I trust 
you! Is it my fault that I look upon you as a most honourable 
and, above all, a sensible man .. . capable, that is, of under- 
standing ... damn...” 

The poor fellow evidently could not master his emotion. 

“You must understand at last,” he went on, “ you must 
understand that in pronouncing his name I am betraying him 
to you—I am betraying him, am I not? I am, am I not?” 

‘But how am I to guess if you don’t make up your mind to 
speak out ?” 

“'That’s just it; you always cut the ground from under one’s 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 331 


feet with your logic, damn it. ... Well, here goes... this 
‘noble personality,’ this ‘student’... is Shatov .. . that’s 
all.” 

‘“Shatov ? How do you mean it’s Shatov ?” 

“* Shatov is the ‘ student’ who is mentioned in this. He lives 
here, he was once a serf, the man who gave that slap... .” 

‘“T know, I know.” Lembke screwed up his eyes. ‘“ But 
excuse me, what is he accused of ? Precisely and, above all, 
what is your petition ?”’ 

“I beg you to save him, do you understand ?. I used to know 
him eight years ago, I might almost say I was his friend,’’ cried 
Pyotr Stepanovitch, completely carried away. “ But I am not 
bound to give you an account of my past life,” he added, with 
‘a gesture of dismissal. “ All this is of no consequence ; it’s the 
case of three men and a half, and with those that are abroad you 
can’t make up a dozen. But what I am building upon is your 
humanity and your intelligence. You will understand and you 
will put the matter in its true light, as the foolish dream of a man 
driven crazy ... by misfortunes, by continued misfcrtunes, 
and not as some impossible political plot or God knows what !” 

He was almost gasping for breath. 

‘“H’m. I see that he is responsible for the manifestoes with 
the axe,’’ Lembke concluded almost majestically. ‘“‘ Excuse me, 
though, if he were the only person concerned, how could he 
have distributed it both here and in other districts and in the 
X province ... and, above all, where did he get them ?”’ 

** But I tell you that at the utmost there are not more than 
five people in it—a dozen perhaps. How ean I tell ?” 

“You don’t know ?” 

“How should I know ?—damn it all.” 

“Why, you knew that Shatov was one of the conspirators.”’ 

“Bch!” Pyotr Stepanovitch waved his hand as though to 
keep off the overwhelming penetration of the inquirer. “ Well, 
listen. I’ll tell you the whole truth: of the manifestoes I know 
nothing—that is, absolutely nothing. Damn it all, don’t you 
know what nothing means ?. . . That sub-lieutenant, to be sure, 
and somebody else and some one else here . . . and Shatov 
perhaps and some one else too—well, that’s the lot of them .. . 
a wretched lot. ... But I’ve come to intercede for Shatov. 
He must be saved, for this poem is his, his own composition, 
and it was through him it was published abroad; that I know 
for a fact, but of the manifestoes I really know nothing.” 


332 THE POSSESSED 


‘“‘Tf the poem is his work, no doubt the manifestoes are too. 
But what data have you for suspecting Mr. Shatov ?”’ 

Pyotr Stepanovitch, with the air of a man driven out of all 
patience, pulled a pocket-book out of his pocket and took a 
note out of it. 

‘ Here are the facts,” he cried, flinging it on the table. 

Lembke unfolded it; it turned out to be a note written six 
months before from here to some address abroad. It was a brief 
note, only two lines : 


‘*T can’t print ‘A Noble Personality’ here, and in fact I 


can do nothing; print it abroad. i Late Ces 


Lembke looked intently at Pyotr Stepanovitch. Varvara 
Petrovna had been right in saying that he had at times the 
expression of a sheep. 

‘* You see, it’s like this,” Pyotr Stepanovitch burst out. “‘ He 
wrote this poem here six months ago, but he couldn’t get it printed 
here, in a secret printing press, and so he asks to have it printed 
abroad. . . . That seems clear.” 

‘Yes, that’s clear, but to whom did he write? That’s not 
clear yet,’’ Lembke observed with the most subtle irony. _ 

“Why, Kirillov, of course ; the letter was written to Kirillov 
abroad. . .. Surely you knew that? What’s so annoying is 
that perhaps you are only putting it on before me, and most 
likely you knew all about this poem and everything long ago! 
How did it come to be on your table? It found its way there 
somehow! Why are you torturing me, if so ?”’ 

He feverishly mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. 

‘“‘f know something, perhaps.”’ Lembke parried dexterously. 
** But who is this Kirillov 2?” 

‘‘ An engineer who has lately come to the town. He was 
Stavrogin’s second, a maniac, a madman; your sub-lieutenant 
may really only be suffering from temporary delirium, but Kirillov 
is a thoroughgoing madman—thoroughgoing, that I guarantee. 
Ah, Andrey Antonovitch, if the government only knew what 
sort of people these conspirators all are, they wouldn’t have the 
heart to lay a finger on them. LEvery single one of them ought 
to be in an asylum; I had a good look at them in Switzerland 
and at the congresses.” 

“From which they direct the movement here ? ”’ 

““ Why, who directs it? Three men and a half. It makes 
one sick to think of them. And what sort of movement is 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 333 


there here? Manifestoes! And what recruits have they made ? 
Sub-lieutenants in brain fever and two or three students! You 
are a sensible man: answer this question. Why don’t people 
of consequence join their ranks? Why are they all students 
and half-baked boys of twenty-two ? And not many of those. 
I dare say there are thousands of bloodhounds on their track, 
but have they tracked out many of them? Seven! I tell you 
it makes one sick.” 

Lembke listened with attention but with an expression that 
seemed to say, ‘‘ You don’t feed nightingales on fairy-tales.”’ 

‘“* Excuse me, though. You asserted that the letter was sent 
abroad, but there’s no address on it ; how do you come to know 
that it was addressed to Mr. Kirillov and abroad too and... 
and... that it really was written by Mr. Shatov ?” 

“Why, fetch some specimen of Shatov’s writing and compare 
it. You must have some signature of his in your office. As 
for its being addressed to Kirillov, it was Kirillov himself showed 
it me at the time.” 

“Then you were yourself... 

** Of course I was, myself. They showed me lots of things out 
there. And as for this poem, they say it was written by Herzen 
to Shatov when he was still wandering abroad, in memory of 
their meeting, so they say, by way of praise and recommenda- 
tion—damn jit all... and Shatov circulates it among the 
young people as much as to say, ‘ This was Herzen’s opinion of 
me.’ be) 

‘Ha ha!” cried Lembke, feeling he had got to the bottom of it: 
at last. “That's just what I was wondering: one can understand 
the manifesto, but what’s the object of the poem ?” 

‘‘Of course you'd see it. Goodness knows why I’ve been 
babbling to you. Listen. Spare Shatov for me and the rest 
may go to the devil—even Kirillov, who is in hiding now, shut 
up in Filipov’s house, where Shatov lodges too. They don’t 
like me because I’ve turned round . . . but promise me Shatov 
and I’ll dish them all up for you. I shall be of use, Andrey 
Antonovitch ! I reckon nine or ten men make up the whole 
wretched lot. JI am keeping an eye on them myself, on my own 
account. We know of three already: Shatov, Kirillov, and 
that sub-lieutenant. The others I am only watching carefully 
... though I am pretty sharp-sighted too. It’s the same 
over again as it was in the X province: two students, a school- 
boy, two noblemen of twenty, a teacher, and a half-pay major 


99 


334 "THE POSSESSED 


of sixty, crazy with drink, have been caught with manifestoes ;. 
that was all—you can take my word for it, that was all; it: was: 
quite a surprise that that was all. But I must have six days. 
I have reckoned it out—six days, not less. If you want to arrive, 
at any result, don’t disturb them for six days and I can kill all. 
the birds with one stone for you; but if you flutter them before, 
the birds will fly away. But spare me Shatov. I speak for 
Shatov. . . . The best plan would be to fetch him here secretly, 
in a friendly way, to your study and question him without 
disguising the facts... .I have no doubt he’ll throw himself 
at your feet and burst into tears! He is a highly strung and 
unfortunate fellow ; his wife is carrying on with Stavrogin. Be. 
kind to him and he will tell you everything, but I must have six 
days. ... And, above all, above all, not a word to Yulia. 
Mihailovna. It’s a secret. May it be a secret ?” 

‘What ?”’ cried Lembke, opening wide his eyes. ‘‘ Do you 
mean to say you said nothing of this to Yulia Mihailovna ?”’ 

“To her? Heaven forbid! Ech, Andrey Antonovitch ! 
You see, I value her friendship and I have the highest respect 
for her... and all the rest of it ... but I couldn’t make 
such a blunder. I don’t contradict her, for, as you know your- 
self, it’s dangerous to contradict her. I may have dropped a 
word to her, for I know she likes that, but to suppose that, I 
mentioned names to her as I have to you or anything of that 
sort! My good sir! Why am [ appealing to you? Because 
you are @ man, anyway, a serious person with old-fashioned 
firmness and experience in the service. You’veseen life. You 
must know by heart every detail of such affairs, I expect, from 
what you’ve seen in Petersburg. But if I were to mention 
those two names, for instance, to her, she’d stir up such a, hubbub. 
... ¥ou know, she would like to astonish Petersburg. No, 
she’s too hot-headed, she really is.”’ 

“Yes, she has something of that fowgue,’’ Andrey Antonovitch, 
muttered with some satisfaction, though at the same time he 
resented this unmannerly fellow’s daring to express himself 
rather freely about Yulia Mihailovna. But Pyotr Stepanovitch 
probably imagined that he had not gone far enough and that 
he must exert himself further to flatter Lembke and make a 
complete conquest of him. 

‘* Fougue is just it,” he assented. ‘“‘She may be a woman 
of genius, a literary woman, but she would scare our sparrows: 
She wouldn’t be able to keep quiet for six hours, let alone six 


. PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 335 


days. Ech, Andrey Antonovitch, don’t attempt to tie a woman 
down for six days! You do admit that I have some experience— 
in this sort of thing, I mean; I know something about it, and 
you know that I may very well know something about it. I am 
not asking for six days for fun but with an object.” 

“Thaveheard ...” (Lembke hesitated to utter his thought) 
‘*T have heard that on your return from abroad you made some 
expression . . . agit were of repentance, in the proper quarter ?”’ 

** Well, that’s as it may be.” 

** And, of course, I don’t want to go into it... . But it has 
seemed to me all along that you’ve talked in quite a different 
style—about the Christian faith, for instance, about social 
institutions, about the government even. .. .” 

“T’ve said lots of things, no doubt, I am saying them still ; 
but such ideas mustn’t be applied as those fools do it, that’s 
the point. What’s the good of biting his superior’s shoulder ? 
You agreed with me yourself, only you said it was premature.” 

** T didn’t mean that when I agreed/and said it was premature.” 

“You weigh every word you utter, though. He he! You 
are a careful man!” Pyotr Stepanovitch observed gaily all of a 
sudden. ‘“‘ Listen, old friend. I had to get to know you ; that’s 
why I talked in my own style. You are not the only one I get 
to know like that. Maybe I needed to find out your character.” 

‘** What’s my character to you ?”’ 

“How can I tell what it may be tome?” He laughed again. 
** You see, my dear and highly respected Andrey Antonovitch, 
you are cunning, but it’s not come to thai yet and it certainly 
never will come to it, you understand ?. Perhaps you do under- 
stand. Though I did make an explanation in the proper quarter 
when I came back from abroad, and I really don’t know why a 
man of certain convictions should not be able to work for the 
advancement of his sincere convictions . . . but nobody there 
has yet instructed me to investigate your character and I’ve 
not undertaken any such job from them. Consider: I need not 
have given those two names to you. I might have gone straight 
there; that is where I made my first explanations. And if I’d 
been acting with a view to financial profit or my own interest in 
any way, it would have been a bad speculation on my part, for 
~ now they’ll be grateful to you and not to me at headquarters. 
I’ve done it solely for Shatov’s sake,” Pyotr Stepanovitch added 
generously, “‘ for Shatov’s sake, because of our old friendship. . .. 
But when you take up your pen to write to headquarters, you 


336 THE POSSESSED 


may put in a word for me, if you like. . . . I’ll make no objec- 
tion, he he! Adieu, though; I’ve stayed too long and there 
was no need to gossip so much ! ”’ he added with some amiability, 
and he got up from the sofa. 

‘“* On the contrary, I am very glad that the position has been 
defined, so to speak.’”’ Von Lembke too got up and he too 
looked pleasant, obviously affected by the last words. ‘I 
accept your services and acknowledge my obligation, and you 
may be sure that anything I can do by way of reporting your 
zeal .'.).”” 

‘‘ Six days—the great thing is to put it off for six days, 
and that you shouldn’t stir for those six days, that’s what I 
want.”’ 

“So be it.” 

‘“‘ Of course, I don’t tie your hands and shouldn’t venture to, 
You are bound to keep watch, only don’t flutter the nest too 
soon; I rely on your sense and experience for that. But IJ 
should think you’ve plenty of bloodhounds and trackers of your 
own in reserve, ha ha!” Pyotr Stepanovitch blurted out with 
the gaiety and irresponsibility of youth. 

‘Not quite so.” Lembke parried amiably. ‘“‘ Young people 
are apt to suppose that there is a great deal in the background, 

. But, by the way, allow me one little word: if this Kirillov 
was Stavrogin’s second, then Mr. Stavrogin too .. .” 

‘What about Stavrogin ?”’ 

‘I mean, if they are such friends ? ”’ 

“Oh, no, no, no! There you are quite out of it, though you 
are cunning. You really surprise me. I thought that you had 
some information about it. ... Hm... Stavrogin—it’s quite 
the opposite, quite. . . . Avis au lecteur.”’ 

‘Do you mean it ? And can it be so ?’’ Lembke articulated 
mistrustfully. ‘“‘ Yulia Mihailovna told me that from what she 
heard from Petersburg he is a man acting on some sort of instruc- 
tions, so to speak. . . .” 

“T know nothing about it 5 I know nothing, absolutely nothing. 
Adieu. Avis au lecteur!’ Abruptly and obviously Pyotr 
Stepanovitch declined to discuss it. 

He hurried to the door. 

“Stay, Pyotr Stepanovitch, stay,” cried Lembke. ‘“‘ One other 
tiny matter and I won’t detain you.’ 

He drew an envelope out of a table drawer. 

‘““ Here is a little specimen of the same kind of thing, wise I 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 337 


let you see it to show how completely I trust you. Here, and 
tell me your opinion.” 

In the envelope was a letter, a strange anonymous letter 
addressed to Lembke and only received by him the day before. 
With intense vexation Pyotr Stepanovitch read as follows: 


“Your ExcretLency,—For such you are by rank. Herewith 
I make known that there is an attempt to be made on the life of 
personages of general’s rank and on the Fatherland. For it’s 
working up straight for that. I myself have been disseminating 
unceasingly for a number of years. There’s infidelity too. 
There’s a rebellion being got up and there are some thousands of 
manifestoes, and for every one of them there will be a hundred 
running with their tongues out, unless they've been taken away 
beforehand by the police. Fur they’ve been promised ‘a mighty 
lot of benefits, and the simple people are foolish, and there’s 
vodka too. The people will attack one after another, taking 
them to be guilty, and, fearing both sides, I repent of what I 
had no share in, my circumstances being what they are. If 
you want information to save the Fatherland, and also the 
Church and the ikons, I am the only one that can do it. But 
only on condition that I get a pardon from the Secret Police by 
telegram at once, me alone, but the rest may answer for it. 
Put a candle every evening at seven o’clock in the porter’s 
window for a signal. Seeing it, I shall believe and come to kiss 
the merciful hand from Petersburg. But on condition there’s 
a pension for me, for else how am I to live ? You won’t regret it 
for it will mean a star for you. You must go secretly or they'll 
wring your neck. Your excellency’s desperate servant falls at 
your feet. 

‘“REPENTANT FREE-THINKER INCOGNITO.” 


Von Lembke explained that the letter had made its appearance 
in the porter’s room when it was left empty the day before. 

‘““So what do you think ?” Pyotr Stepanovitch asked almost 
rudely. 

“ T think it’s an anonymous skit by way of a hoax.” 

“Most likely it is. There’s no taking you in.” 

‘“ What makes me think that is that it’s so stupid.” 

‘“‘ Have you received such documents here before ? ” 

“Once or twice, anonymous letters.” 

“ Oh, of course they wouldn’t be signed. In a different style 


In different handwritings ?”’ 
oN 


338 THE POSSESSED 


re owdt 
*‘ And were they buffoonery like this one 2?” 
“Yes, and you know... very disgusting.” 


if Well, if you had them before, it must be the same thing 
now,’ 

“Especially because it’s so stupid. Because these people 
are educated and wouldn’t write so stupidly.” 

‘Of course, of course.”’ 

“But what if this is some one who really wants to turn 
informer ?”’ 

““Tt’s not very likely,” Pyotr Stepanovitch rapped out dryly. 
“What does he mean by a telegram from the Secret Police and 
a pension? It’s obviously a hoax.”’ 

“Yes, yes,’ Lembke admitted, abashed. 

“T tell you what: you leave this with me. I can certainly 
find out for you before I track out the others.”’ 

“ Take it,’’ Lembke assented, though with some hesitation. 

*‘ Have you shown it to anyone ? ” 

“Ts it likely! No.” 

** Not to Yulia Mihailovna ? ” : 

““Oh, Heaven forbid! And for God’s sake don’t you show it 
her!” Lembke cried in alarm. ‘“ She'll be so upset ... and 
will be dreadfully angry with me.” 

_ “ Yes, you'll be the first to catch it; she’d say you brought it 
on yourself if people write like that to you. I know what 
women’s logic is. Well, good-bye. I dare say I shall bring you 
the writer in a couple of days or so. Above all, our compact!” 


IV 


Though Pyotr Stepanovitch was perhaps far from being a 
stupid man, Fedka the convict had said of him truly ‘“ that he 
would make up a man himself and go on living with him too.” 
He came away from Lembke fully persuaded that for the next 
six days, anyway, he had put his mind at rest, and this interval 
was absolutely necessary for his own purposes. But it was a 
false idea and founded entirely on the fact that he had made up 
for himself once for all an Andrey Antonovitch who was 2 
perfect simpleton. 

Like every morbidly suspicious man, Andrey Antonovitch 
was always exceedingly and joyfully trustful the moment he got 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 339 


on to sure ground. The new turn of affairs struck him at first 
in a rather favourable light in spite of some fresh and trouble- 
some complications. Anyway, his former doubts fell to the 
ground. Besides, he had been so tired for the last few days, so 
exhausted and helpless, that his soul involuntarily yearned for 
rest. But alas! he was again uneasy. The long time he had 
spent in Petersburg had left ineradicable traces in his heart. 
The official and even the secret history of the ‘ younger genera- 
tion ” was fairly familiar to him—he was a curious man and used 
to collect manifestoes—but he could never understand a word 
of it. Now he felt like a man lost in a forest. Every instinct 
told him that there was something in Pyotr Stepanovitch’s words 
utterly incongruous, anomalous, and grotesque, “ though there’s 
no telling what may not happen with this ‘ younger generation,’ 
and the devil only knows what’s going on among them,” he 
mused, lost in perplexity. 

And at this moment, to make matters worse, Blum poked his 
head in. He had been waiting not far off through the whole of 
Pyotr Stepanovitch’s visit. This Blum was actually a distant 
relation of Andrey Antonovitch, though the relationship had 
always been carefully and timorously concealed. I must apolo- 
gise to the reader for devoting a few words here to this insignificant 
person. Blum was one of that strange class of “ unfortunate ” 
Germans who’ are unfortunate not through lack of ability but 
through some inexplicable ill luck. “‘ Unfortunate’ Germans 
are not a myth, but really do exist even in Russia, and are of a 
special type. Andrey Antonovitch had always had a quite 
touching sympathy for him, and wherever he could, as he rose 
himself in the service, had promoted him to subordinate positions 
under him; but Blum had never been successful. Hither the 
post was abolished after he had been appointed to it, or a new 
chief took charge of the department ; once he was almost arrested 
by mistake with other people. He was precise, but he was gloomy 
to excess and to his own detriment. He was tall and had red 
hair ; he stooped and was depressed and even sentimental ; and 
in spite of his being humbled by his life, he was obstinate and 
persistent as an ox, though always at the wrong moment. For 
Andrey Antonovitch he, as well as his wife and numerous family, 
had cherished for many years a reverent devotion. Except 
Andrey Antonovitch no one had ever liked him. Yulia Mihailovna 
would have discarded him from the first, but could not overcome 
her husband’s obstinacy. It was the cause of their first conjugal 


340 THE POSSESSED 


quarrel. It had happened soon after their marriage, in the early 
days of their honeymoon, when she was confronted with Blum, 
who, together with the humiliating secret of his relationship, had 
been until then carefully concealed from her. Andrey Antono- 
vitch besought her with clasped hands, told her pathetically all 
the story of Blum and their friendship from childhood, but 
Yulia Mihailovna considered herself disgraced for ever, and even 
had recourse to fainting. Von Lembke would not budge an 
inch, and declared that he would not give up Blum or part from 
him for anything in the world, so that she was surprised at last 
and was obliged to put up with Blum. It was settled, however, 
that the relationship should be concealed even more carefully 
than before if possible, and that even Blum’s Christian name 
and patronymic should be changed, because he too was for 
some reason called Andrey Antonovitch. Blum knew no one 
in the town except the German chemist, had not called on 
anyone, and led, as he always did, a lonely and niggardly exist- 
ence. He had long been aware of Andrey Antonovitch’s literary 
peccadilloes. He was generally summoned to listen to secret 
téte-a-téte readings of his novel; he would sit like a post for six 
hours at a stretch, perspiring and straining his utmost to keep 
awake and smile. On reaching home he would groan with his 
long-legged and lanky wife over their benefactor’s unhappy 
weakness for Russian literature. 

Andrey Antonovitch looked with anguish at Blum. 

“I beg you to leave me alone, Blum,” he began with agitated 
haste, obviously anxious to avoid any renewal of the previous 
conversation which had been interrupted by Pyotr Stepanovitch. 

‘‘ And yet this may be arranged in the most delicate way and 
with no publicity ; you have full power.” Blum respectfully but 
obstinately insisted on some point, stooping forward and coming 
nearer and nearer by small steps to Andrey Antonovitch. 

‘“* Blum, you are so devoted to me and so anxious to serve me 
that I am always in a panic when I look at you.” 

“You always say witty things, and sleep in peace satisfied 
with what you’ve said, but that’s how you damage yourself.”’ 

‘“* Blum, I have just convinced myself that it’s quite a mistake, 
quite a mistake.”’ 

*‘ Not from the words of that false, vicious young man whom 
you suspect yourself ? He has won you by his flattering praise 
of your talent for literature.”’ 

“Blum, you understand nothing about it; your project is 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 341 


absurd, I tell you. We shall find nothing and there will be a 
fearful upset and laughter too, and then Yulia Mihailovna .. .” 

“ We shall certainly find everything we are looking for.” Blum 
advanced firmly towards him, laying his right hand on his heart. 
“ We will make a search suddenly early in the morning, carefully 
showing every consideration for the person himself and strictly 
observing all the prescribed forms of the law. The young men, 
Lyamshin and Telyatnikov, assert positively that we shall 
find all we want. They were constant visitors there. Nobody 
is favourably disposed to Mr. Verhovensky. Madame Stavrogin 
has openly refused him her graces, and every honest man, if only 
there is such a one in this coarse town, is persuaded that a hotbed 
of infidelity and social doctrines has always been concealed 
there. He keeps all the forbidden books, Ryliev’s ‘ Reflections,’ 
all Herzen’s works. ...I have an approximate catalogue, in 
case of need.”’ 

“Oh heavens! Every one has these books; how simple you 
are, my poor Blum.” 

‘*‘ And many manifestoes,’”’ Blum went on without heeding the 
observation. ‘“‘ We shall end by certainly coming upon traces 
of the real manifestoes here. That young Verhovensky I feel 
very suspicious of.” 

“ But you are mixing up the father and the son. They are 
not on good terms. The son openly laughs at his father.” 

* That’s only a mask.” 

“ Blum, you've sworn to torment me! Think! he is a con- 
spicuous figure here, after all. He’s been a professor, he is a 
well-known man. He’ll make such an uproar and there will 
be such gibes all over the town, and we shall make a mess of it 
all. .. . And only think how Yulia Mihailovna will take it.” 

Blum pressed forward and did not listen. 

‘He was only a lecturer, only a lecturer, and of a low rank 
when he retired.’”’ He smote himself on the chest. “‘ He has 
no marks of distinction. He was discharged from the service 
on suspicion of plots against the government. He has been 
under secret supervision, and undoubtedly still is so. And in 
view of the disorders that have come to light now, you are 
_ undoubtedly bound in duty. You are losing your chance of 
distinction by letting slip the real criminal.” 

“ Vulia Mihailovna! Get away, Blum,” Von Lembke cried 
suddenly, hearing the voice of his spouse in the next room. 

Blum started but did not give in. 


342 THE POSSESSED 


‘‘ Allow me, allow me,” he persisted, pressing both hands 
still more tightly on his chest. 

“Get away!” hissed Andrey Antonovitch. ‘‘ Do what you 
like ... afterwards. Oh, my God!” 

The curtain was raised and Yulia Mihailovna made her appear- 
ance. She stood still majestically at the sight of Blum, casting 
a haughty and offended glance at him, as though the very 
presence of this man was an affront to her. Blum respectfully 
made her a deep bow without speaking and, doubled up with 
veneration, moved towards the door on tiptoe with his arms held 
a little away from him. 

Either because he really took Andrey Antondvitich's last 
hysterical outbreak as a direct permission to act as he was asking, 
or whether he strained a point in this case for the direct advan- 
tage of his benefactor, because he was too confident that success 
would crown his efforts; anyway, as we shall see later on, this 
conversation of the governcr with his subordinate led to a very 
surprising event which amused many people, became public 
property, moved Yulia Mihailovna to fierce anger, utterly 
disconcerting Andrey Antonovitch and reducing him at the 
crucial moment to a state of deplorable indecision. 


V 


It was a busy day for Pyotr Stepanovitch. From Yon Lembke 
he hastened to Bogoyavlensky Street, but as he went along 
Bykovy Street, past the house where Karmazinov was staying, 
he suddenly stopped, grinned, and went into the house. The 
servant told him that he was expected, which interested him, 
as he had said nothing beforehand of his coming. 

But the great writer really had been expecting him, not 
only that day but the day before and the day before that. Three 
days before he had handed him his manuscript Merci (which 
he had meant to read at the literary matinée at Yulia Mihailovna’s 
féte). He had done this out of amiability, fully convinced that 
he was agreeably flattering the young man’s vanity by letting 
him read the great work beforehand. Pyotr Stepanovitch had 
noticed long before that this vainglorious, spoiled gentleman, 
who was so offensively unapproachable for all but the elect, this 
writer “ with the intellect of a statesman,” was simply trying 
to curry favour with him, even with avidity, I believe the young 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 343 


man guessed at last that Karmazinov considered him, if not 
the leader of the whole secret revolutionary movement in Russia, 
at least one of those most deeply initiated into the secrets of the 
Russian revolution who had an incontestable influence on the 
younger generation. The state of mind of “the cleverest man 
in Russia ”’ interested Pyotr Stepanovitch, but hitherto he had, 
for certain reasons, avoided explaining himself. 

The great writer was staying in the house belonging to his 
sister, who was the wife of a kammerherr and had an estate in 
the neighbourhood. Both she and her husband had the deepest 
reverence for their illustrious relation, but to their profound 
regret both of them happened to be in Moscow at the time of his 
visit, so that the honour of receiving him fell to the lot of an old 
lady, a poor relation of the kammerherr’s, who had for years 
lived in the family and looked after the housekeeping. All the 
household had moved about on tiptoe since Karmazinov’s arrival. 
The old lady sent news to Moscow almost every day, how he 
had slept, what he had deigned to eat, and had once sent a 
telegram to announce that after a dinner-party at the mayor’s 
he was obliged to take a spoonful of a well-known medicine. 
She rarely plucked up courage to enter his room, though he 
_ behaved courteously to her, but dryly, and only talked to her of 
what was necessary. 

When Pyotr Stepanovitch came in, he was eating his morning 
cutlet with half a glass of red wine. Pyotr Stepanovitch had 
been to see him before and always found him eating this cutlet, 
which he finished in his presence without ever offering him 
anything. After the cutlet a little cup of coffee was served. 
The footman who brought in the dishes wore a swallow-tail coat, 
noiseless boots, and gloves. 

“Ha ha!” Karmazinov got up from the sofa, wiping his mouth 
with a table-napkin, and came forward to kiss him with an air 
of unmixed delight—after the characteristic fashion of Russians 
if they are very illustrious. But Pyotr Stepanovitch knew by 
experience that, though Karmazinov made a show of kissing 
him, he really only proffered his cheek, and so this time he did 
the same: the cheeks met. Karmazinov did not show that he 
noticed it, sat down on the sofa, and affably offered Pyotr 
Stepanovitch an easy chair facing him, in which the latter 
stretched himself at once. 

“You don’t... wouldn’t like some lunch?” inquired 
Karmazinov, abandoning his usual habit, but with an air, of 


344 THE POSSESSED 


course, which would prompt a polite refusal. Pyotr Stepanovitch 
at once expressed a desire for lunch. A shade of offended 
surprise darkened the face of his host, but only for an instant ; 
he nervously rang for the servant and, in spite of all his breeding, 
raised his voice scornfully as he gave orders for a second lunch 
to be served. 

“ What will you have, cutlet or coffee ?’’ he asked once more. 

“A cutlet and coffee, and tell him to bring some more wine. 
Iam hungry,’ answered Pyotr Stepanovitch, calmly scrutinising 
his host’s attire. Mr. Karmazinov was wearing a sort of indoor 
wadded jacket with pearl buttons, but it was too short, which 
was far from becoming to his rather comfortable stomach and 
the solid curves of his hips. But tastes differ. Over his knees 
he had a checkered woollen plaid reaching to the floor, though 
it was warm in the room. 

‘“‘ Are you unwell ?”’ commented Pyotr Stepanovitch. 

*““ No, not unwell, but I am afraid of being so in this climate,’ 
answered the writer in his squeaky voice, though he uttered each 
word with a soft cadence and agreeable gentlemanly lisp. ‘‘ I’ve 
been expecting you since yesterday.” | 

“Why ? I didn’t say I'd come.” ! 

“No, but you have my manuscript. Have you... read 
it 2?” 

“Manuscript ? Which one?” 

Karmazinov was terribly surprised. 

“ But you’ve brought it with you, haven’t you?’’ He was 
so disturbed that he even left off eating and looked at Pyotr 
Stepanovitch with a face of dismay. 

‘“ Ah, that Bonjour you mean. 

* Mere.” 

“Oh, all right. I’d quite forgotten it and hadn’t read it; 
I haven’t had time. I really don’t know, it’s not in my pockets 

. it must be on my table. Don’t be uneasy, it will be found.” 

“No, I'd better send to your rooms at once. It might be 
lost ; besides, it might be stolen.” 

“Oh, who’d want it! But why are you so alarmed? Why, 
Yulia Mihailovna told me you always have several copies made— 
one kept at a notary’s abroad, another in Petersburg, a third in 
Moscow, and then you send some to a bank, I believe.” 

‘“ But Moscow might be burnt again and my manuscript with 
it. No, I'd better send at once.” 

“Stay, here it is!” Pyotr Stepanovitch pulled a roll of 


» 
° 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 345 


note-paper out of a pocket at the back of his coat. ‘‘ It’s a little 
crumpled. Only fancy, it’s been lying there with my pocket- 
handkerchief ever since I took it from you ; I forgot it.”’ 

Karmazinov greedily snatched the manuscript, carefully 
examined it, counted the pages, and laid it respectfully beside 
him on a special table, for the time, in such a way that he would 
not lose sight of it for an instant. 

“You don’t read very much, it seems ?”’ he hissed, unable 
to restrain himself. 

*“ No, not very much.” 

** And nothing in the way of Russian literature ? ” 

“In the way of Russian literature ? Let me see, I have read 
something. ... “Onthe Way’ or‘ Away !’ or‘ At the Parting 
of the Ways ’—something of the sort; I don’t remember. It’s 
a long time since I read it, five years ago. I’ve no time.” 

A silence followed. | 

“When I came I assured every one that you were a very 
intelligent man, and now I believe every one here is wild over 

you.”’ 
' “Thank you,” Pyotr Stepanovitch answered calmly. 

Lunch was brought in. Pyotr Stepanovitch pounced on the 
cutlet with extraordinary appetite, had eaten it in a trice, tossed 
off the wine and swallowed his coffee. 

“ This boor,”’ thought Karmazinov, looking at him askance 
as he munched the last morsel and drained the last drops— 
“this boor probably understood the biting taunt in my words 
. . . and no doubt he has read the manuscript with eagerness ; 
he is simply lying with some object. But possibly he is not 
lying and is only genuinely stupid. I like a genius to be rather 
stupid. Mayn’t he be a sort of genius among them ? Devil take 
the fellow !.”’ 

He got up from the sofa and began pacing from one end of the 
room to the other for the sake of exercise, as he always did after 
lunch. 

‘Leaving here soon?” asked Pyotr Stepanovitch from his 
easy chair, lighting a cigarette. 

‘T really came to sell an estate and I am in the hands of my 
bailiff.”’ 

“You left, I believe, because they expected an epidemic out 
there after the war?” 

‘‘N-no, not entirely for that reason,” Mr. Karmazinov went 
on, uttering his phrases with an affable intonation, and each 


346 | THE POSSESSED 


time he turned round in pacing the corner there was a faint but 
jaunty quiver of his right leg. “I-certainly intend to live as 
long as I can.” He laughed, not without venom. “ There is 
something in our Russian nobility that makes them wear out 
very quickly, from every point of view. But I wish to wear 
out as late as possible, and now I am going abroad for good ; 
there the climate is better, the houses are of stone, and everything 
stronger. Europe will last my time, I think. What do you 
think ?” 

‘““ How can I tell ?”’ 

‘““H’m. If the Babylon out there really does fall, and great 
will be the fall thereof (about which I quite agree with you, yet 
I think it will last my time), there’s nothing to fall here in Russia, 
comparatively speaking. There won’t be stones to fall, every- 
thing will crumble into dirt. Holy Russia has less power of 
resistance than anything in the world. The Russian peasantry 
is still held together somehow by the Russian God ; but according 
to the latest accounts the Russian God is not to be relied upon, 
and scarcely survived the emancipation ; it certainly gave Him 
a severe shock. And now, what with railways, what with 
you ... [ve no faith in the Russian God.” 

‘‘ And how about the European one ? ”’ 

“I don’t believe in any. ITve been slandered to the youth 
of Russia. Ive always sympathised with every movement 
among them. I was shown the manifestoes here. Every one 
looks at them with perplexity because they are frightened at 
the way things are put in them, but every one is convinced of 
their power even if they don’t admit it to themselves. Every- 
body has been rolling downhill, and every one has known for 
ages that they have nothing to clutch at. I am persuaded of 
the success of this mysterious propaganda, if only because 
Russia is now pre-eminently the place in all the world where 
anything you like may happen without any opposition. I 
understand only too well why wealthy Russians all flock abroad, 
and more and more so every year. It’s simply instinct. If the 
ship is sinking, the rats are the first to leave it. Holy Russia 
is a country of wood, of poverty . . . and of danger, the country 
of ambitious beggars in its upper classes, while the immense 
majority live in poky little huts. She will be glad of any way 
of escape; you have only to present it to her. It’s only the 
government that still means to resist, but it brandishes its 
cudgel in the dark and hits its own men. Everything here is 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 347 


doomed and awaiting the end. Russia as she is has no future. 
I have become a German and I am proud of it.” 

“But you began about the manifestoes. Tell me everything: 
how do you look at them ?” 

‘‘ Every one is afraid of them, so they must be influential. 
They openly unmask what is false and prove that there is nothing 
to lay hold of among us, and nothing to lean upon. They speak 
aloud while all is silent. What is most effective about them 
(in spite of their style) is the incredible boldness with which they 
look the truth straight in the face. To look facts straight in 
the face is only possible to Russians of this generation. No, in 
Europe they are not yet so bold; it is a realm of stone, there 
there is still something to lean upon. So far as I see and am 
able to judge, the whole essence of the Russian revolutionary 
idea lies in the negation of honour. | like its being so boldly and 
fearlessly expressed. No, in Europe they wouldn’t understand 
it yet, but that’s just what we shall clutch at. For a Russian 
a sense of honour is only a superfluous burden, and it always 
has been a burden through all his history. The open ‘right to 
dishonour ”’ will attract him more than anything. I belong to 
the older generation and, I must confess, still cling to honour, 
but only from habit. It is only that I prefer the old forms, 
granted it’s from timidity ; you see one must live somehow what’s 
left of one’s life.” 

He suddenly stopped. 

““T am talking,” he thought, “‘ while he holds his tongue 
and watches me. He has come to make me ask him a direct 
question. And I shall ask him.” 

‘Yulia Mihailovna asked me by some stratagem to find out 
from you what the surprise is that you are preparing for the 
ball to-morrow,” Pyotr Stepanovitch asked suddenly. 

‘Yes, there really will be a surprise and I certainly shall 
astonish .. .”’ said Karmazinov with increased dignity. ‘“‘ But 
I won’t tell you what the secret is.” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch did not insist. 

*“There is a young man here called Shatov,” observed the 
great writer. “ Would you believe it, I haven’t seen him.” 

‘A very nice person. What about him?” 

“Oh, nothing. He talks about something. Isn’t he the 
person who gave Stavrogin that slap in the face ?” 

Pees, 

“ And what’s your opinion of Stavrogin ? ” 


348 THE POSSESSED 


‘*T don’t know; heis such a flirt.”’ 

Karmazinov detested Stavrogin because it was the latter’s 
habit not to take any notice of him. 

‘‘ That flirt,’’ he said, chuckling, “‘ if what is advocated in your 
manifestoes ever comes to pass, will be the first to be hanged.” 

‘‘ Perhaps before,’’ Pyotr Stepanovitch said suddenly, 

‘“‘ Quite right too,’’ Karmazinov assented, not laughing, and 
with pronounced gravity. 

‘‘ You have said so once before, and, do you know, I repeated 
it to him.” 

“What, you surely didn’t repeat it ?”’ Karmazinov laughed 
again. 

‘‘ He said that if he were to be hanged it would be enough for 
you to be flogged, not simply as a compliment but to hurt, as 
they flog the peasants.” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch took his hat. and got up from his seat. 
Karmazinov held out both hands to him at parting. 

‘“‘ And what if all that you are . . . plotting for is destined 
to come to pass...” he piped suddenly, in a honeyed voice 
with a peculiar intonation, still holding his hands in his. ‘“‘ How 
soon could it come about ? ”’ 

‘““How could I tell ?’’ Pyotr Stepanovitch answered rather 
roughly. They looked intently into each other’s eyes. 

“At a guess? Approximately? ’’ Karmazinov piped still 
more sweetly. 

** You'll have time to sell your estate and time to clear out 
too,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch muttered still more roughly. They 
looked at one another even more intently. 

There was a minute of silence. 

‘It will begin early next May and will be over by October,” 
Pyotr-Stepanovitch said suddenly. 

‘“‘T thank you sincerely,’? Karmazinov pronounced in a voice 
saturated with feeling, pressing his hands. 

“You will have time to get out of the ship, you rat,” Pyotr 
Stepanovitch was thinking as he went out into the street. ‘‘ Well, 
if that ‘ imperial intellect’ inquires so confidently of the day 
and the hour and thanks me so respectfully for the information 
I have given, we mustn’t doubt of ourselves. [He grinned.] | 
H’m! But he really isn’t stupid . .. and he is simply a rat 
escaping ; men like that don’t tell tales!” 

He ran to Filipov’s house in Bogoyaviensky Street. 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 349 


VI 


Pyotr Stepanovitch went first to Kirillov’s. He found him, 
as usual, alone, and at the moment practising gymnastics, that 
is, standing with his legs apart, brandishing his arms above his 
head in a peculiar way. On the floor lay a ball. The tea stood 
cold on the table, not cleared since breakfast. Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch stood for a minute on the threshold. 

“You are very anxious about your health, it seems,” he said 
in a loud and cheerful tone, going into the room. ‘‘ What a 
jolly ball, though ; foo, how it bounces! Is that for gymnastics 
too ?”’ 

Kirillov put on his coat. 

“Yes, that’s for the good of my health too,” he muttered 
dryly. ‘Sit down.” 

“1m only here for a minute. Still, Pll sit down. Health is 
all very well, but I’ve come to remind you of our agreement. 
The appointed time is approaching . . . in a certain sense,’’ he 
concluded awkwardly. 

*‘ What agreement ? ” 

“How can you ask?” Pyotr Stepanovitch was startled and 
even dismayed. 

‘It’s not an agreement and not an obligation. I have not 
bound myself in any way ; it’s a mistake on your part.” 

“J say, what’s this you’re doing?” Pyotr Stepanovitch 
jumped up. 

** What I choose.” 

“What do you choose ?”’ 

‘The same as before.” 

“How am I to understand that? Does that mean that 
you are in the same mind ?” 

‘“Yes. Only there’s no agreement and never has been, and 
I have not bound myself in any way. I could do as I like and 
I can still do as I like.” 

Kirillov explained himseif curtly and contemptuously. 

‘“‘T agree, I agree; be as free as you like if you don’t change 
your mind.”’ Pyotr Stepanovitch sat down again with a satisfied 
air. ‘‘ You are angry over a word. You’ve become very 
irritable of late; that’s why I’ve avoided coming to see you. 
I was quite sure, though, you would be loyal.” 


350 THE POSSESSED 


“‘T dislike you very much, but you can be perfectly sure— 
though I don’t regard it as loyalty and disloyalty.” 

‘“* But do you know”’ (Pyotr Stepanovitch was startled ace 
‘we must talk things over thoroughly again so as not to get in 
a muddle. The business needs accuracy, and you keep giving 
me such shocks. Will you let me speak ?”’ 

‘* Speak,’’ snapped Kirillov, looking away. 

‘* You made up your mind long ago to take your life... 1 
mean, you had the idea in your mind. Is that the right expres- 
sion? Is there any mistake about that ?”’ 

‘“‘T have the same idea still.” 

‘“‘ Excellent. Take note that no one has forced it on you.” 

“* Rather not; what nonsense you talk.” 

“TI dare say I express it very stupidly. Of course, it would 
be very stupid to force anybody to it. VIl go on. You werea 
member of the society before its organisation was changed, and 
confessed it to one of the members.” 

‘‘T didn’t confess it, I simply said so.”’ 

‘* Quite so. And it would be absurd to confess such a thing, 
What a confession! You simply said so. Excellent.” 

‘No, it’s not excellent, for you are being tedious. I am not 
obliged to give you any account of myself and you can’t under- 
stand my ideas. I want to put an end to my life, because 
that’s my idea, because I don’t want to be afraid of death, 
because . . . because there’s no need for you to know. What 
do you want? Would you like tea? It’s cold. Let me get 
you another glass.” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch actually had taken up the teapot and 
was looking for an empty glass. Kirillov went to the cupboard 
and brought a clean glass. 

‘“‘ [ve just had lunch at Karmazinov’s,” observed his visitor, 
‘then I listened to him talking, and perspired and got into a 
sweat again running here. I am fearfully thirsty.” 

“Drink. Cold tea is good.” 

Kirillov sat down on his chair again and again fixed his eyes 
on the farthest corner. 

‘‘ The idea had arisen in the society,’”’ he went on in the same 
voice, ‘‘ that I might be of use if I killed myself, and that when 
you get up some bit of mischief here, and they are looking for 
the guilty, I might suddenly shoot myself and leave a letter 
saying I did it all, so that you might escape suspicion for another 
year.” 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 351 


** For a few days, anyway ; one day is precious.” 

*“Good. So for that reason they asked me, if I would, to 
wait. I said I’d wait till the society fixed the day, because it 
makes no difference to me.” 

‘** Yes, but remember that you bound yourself not to make 
up your last letter without me and that in Russia you would be 
at my ... well, at my disposition, that is for that purpose only. 
I need hardly say, in everything else, of course, you are free,”’ 
_ Pyotr Stepanovitch added almost amiably. 

‘* { didn’t bind myself, I agreed, because it makes no difference 
to me.”’ 

“Good, good. I have no intention of wounding your vanity, 
bub...’ 

“Tt’s not a question of vanity.” 

‘* But remember that a hundred and twenty thalers were 
collected for your journey, so you’ve taken money.” 

“Not at all.” Kirillov fired up. ‘“‘The money was not on 
that condition. One doesn’t take money for that.” 

‘‘ People sometimes do.” 

**That’s a lie. I sent a letter from Petersburg, and in Peters- 
burg I paid you a hundred and twenty thalers ; I put it in your 
hand . . . and it has been sent off there, unless you’ve kept it 
for yourself.’ | 

‘All right, all right, I don’t dispute anything; it has been 
sent off. All that matters is that you are still in the seme 
mind.” 

‘“* Exactly the same. When you come and tell me it’s time, 
Vl carry it allout. Willit be very soon ?”’ 

‘* Not very many days. . .. But remember, we’ll make up 
the letter together, the same night.” 

‘* The same day if you like. You say I must take the respon- 
sibility for the manifestoes on myself ? ” 

‘* And something else too.” 

““T am not going to make myself out responsible for every- 
thing.”’ 

. What won’t you be responsible for ?”’ said Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch again. 

‘What I don’t choose ; ; that’s enough. I-don’t want to talk 
about it any more.’ 

Pyotr Stepanovitch controlled himself and changed the 
subject. 

‘To speak of something else,” he began, “ will you be with us 


352 THE POSSESSED 


this evening? It’s Virginsky’s name-day; that’s the pretext 
for our meeting.” 

‘I don’t want to.” , 

“Do mea favour. Docome. You must. We must impress 
them by our number and our looks. You havea face .. . well, 
in one word, you have a fateful face.” 

‘You think so?” laughed Kirillov. ‘‘ Very well, Ill come, 
but not for the sake af my face. What time isit ?” 

“Oh, quite early, half-past six. And, you know, you can go 
in, sit down, and not speak to any one, however many there 
may be there. Only, I say, don’t forget to bring pencil and 
paper with you.” 

‘““ What's that for ?” 

‘Why, it makes no difference to you, and it’s my special 
request. You'll only have to sit still, speaking to no one, listen, 
and sometimes seem to make a note. You can draw something, 
if you like.” 

‘“What nonsense! What for?” 

‘“Why, since it makes no difference to you! You keep 
saying that it’s just the same to you.” | 

‘* No, what for ? ”’ 

‘“Why, because that member of the society, the inspector, 
has stopped at Moscow and I told some of them here that possibly 
the inspector may turn up to-night; and they’ll think that you 
are the inspector. And as you’ve been here three weeks already, 
they’ll be still more surprised.”’ 

‘Stage tricks. You haven’t got an inspector in Moscow.” 

‘Well, suppose I haven’t—damn him !—what business is that 
of yours and what bother will it be to you? You are a member 
of the society yourself.”’ 

‘Tell them I am the inspector ; I'll sit still and hold my tongue, 
but I won’t have the pencil and paper.” 

“But why ?” 

‘“*T don’t want to.” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch was really angry; he turned positively 
green, but again he controlled himself. He got up and took his 
hat. 

“Is that fellow with you?’ he brought out suddenly, in a 
low voice, 

6¢ Yes.’’ 

“'That’s good. IT’ll soon get him away. Don’t be uneasy.” 

“Tamnotuneasy Heis only here at night. The old woman 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 353 


is in the hospital, her daughter-in-law is dead. I’ve been 
alone for the last two days. I’ve shown him the place in the 
paling where you can take a board out; he gets through, no 
one sees.” 

** Tl take him away soon.” 

** He says he has got plenty of places to stay the night in.” 

*That’s rot ; they are looking for him, but here he wouldn't 
be noticed. Do you ever get into talk with him ?”’ 

“Yes, at night. He abuses you tremendously. I’ve been 
reading the ‘ Apocalypse’ to him at night, and we have tea. He 
listened eagerly, very eagerly, the whole night.” 

“Hang it all, you’ll convert him to Christianity ! ” 

“He is a Christian as it is. Don’t be uneasy, he’ll do the 
murder. Whom do you want to murder ?” 

“No, I don’t want him for that, I want him for something 
different. . . . And does Shatov know about Fedka ?” 

‘*T don’t talk to Shatov, and I don’t see him.”’ 

“Is he angry ?” 

‘* No, we are not angry, only we shun one another. We lay 
too long side by side in America.” 

“IT am going to him directly.” 

*“ As you like.” 

** Stavrogin and I may come and see you from there, about 
ten o’clock.”’ 

66 Do.”’ 

*T want to talk to him about something important. . . 

I say, make me a present of your ball ; what do you want with it 
now? I want it for gymnastics too. Ill pay you for it if you 
like.” 

‘** You can take it without.” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch put the ball in the back pocket of his coat. 

‘But Pll give you nothing against Stavrogin,” Kirillov 
muttered after his guest, as he saw him out. The latter looked 
at him in amazement but did not answer. 

Kirillov’s last words perplexed Pyotr Stepanovitch extremely ; 
he had not time yet to discover their meaning, but even while 
he was on the stairs of Shatov’s lodging he tried to remove all 
trace of annoyance and to assume an amiable expression. Shatov 
was at home and rather unwell. He was lying on his bed, though 
dressed. 

“What bad luck!” Pyotr Stepanovitch cried out in the 
doorway. ‘‘ Are you really ill?” 

Z 


354 THE POSSESSED 


The amiable expression of his face suddenly vanished ; there 
was a gleam of spite in his eyes. ; 

“Not at all.’ Shatov jumped up nervously. ‘I am not ill 
at all . . . a little headache . . 

He was disconcerted ; the sudden appearance of such a visitor 
positively alarmed him. 

‘You mustn’t be ill for the job ve come about,” Pyotr 
Stepanovitch began quickly and, as it were, peremptorily. 
‘* Allow me to sit down.”’ (He sat down.) “‘ And you sit down again 
on your bedstead; that’s right. There will be a party of our 
fellows at Virginsky’ s to-night on the pretext of his birthday ; 
it will have no political character, however—we’ve seen to that. 
I am coming with Nikolay Stavrogin. I would not, of course, 
have dragg ved you there, knowing your way of thinking at present 

. simply to save your being worried, not because we think 
you would betray us. But as things have turned out, you will 
have to go. You’ll meet there the very people with whom we 
shall finally settle how you are to leave the society and to whom 
you are to hand over what isin your keeping. We’ll doit without 
being noticed; Ill take you aside into a corner; there’ll be a 
lot of people and there’s no need for every one to know. I must 
confess I’ve had to keep my tongue wagging on your behalf ; 
but now I believe they’ve agreed, on condition you hand over the 
printing press and all the papers, of course. Then you can go 
where you please.” 

Shatov listened, frowning and resentful. The nervous alarm 
of a moment before had entirely left him. 

‘‘ | don’t acknowledge any sort of obligation to give an account 
to the devil knows whom,” he declared definitely. ‘‘ No one 
has the authority to set me free.”’ 

‘“Not quite so. A great deal has been entrusted to you. 
You hadn’t the right to break off simply. Besides, you made no 
clear statement about it, so that you put them in an ambiguous 
position.” 

‘1 stated my position clearly by letter as soon as I arrived 
here.” 

“No, it wasn’t clear,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch retorted calmly. 
‘“T sent you ‘A Noble Personality’ to be printed here, and 
meaning the copies to be kept here till they were wanted; and 
the two manifestoes as well. You returned them with an 
ambiguous letter which explained nothing.” 

‘T refused definitely to print them.” 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY B55 


“Well, not definitely. You wrote that you couldn’t, but you 
didn’t explain for what reason. ‘I can’t’ doesn’t mean ‘I 
don’t want to.’ It might be supposed that you were simply 
unable through circumstances. That was how they took it, 
and considered that you still meant to keep up your connection 
with the society, so that they might have entrusted something 
to you again and so have compromised themselves. They say 
here that you simply meant to deceive them, so that you might 
betray them when you got hold of something important. I have 
defended you to the best of my powers, and have shown your 
brief note as evidence in your favour. But I had to admit on 
rereading those two lines that they were misleading and not 
conclusive.” 

“You kept that note so carefully then ?”’ 

“My keeping it means nothing ; I’ve got it still.” 

“Well, I don’t care, damn it!’ Shatov cried furiously. 
** Your fools may consider that I’ve betrayed them if they like— 
what is it to me? I should like to see what you can do to 
me?” 

‘* Your name would be noted, and at the first success of the 
revolution you would be hanged.” 

“That’s when you get the upper hand and dominate 
Russia ? ”’ 

*“ You needn’t laugh. I tell you again, I stood up for you. 
Anyway, I advise you to turn up to-day. Why waste words 
through false pride? Isn’t it better to part friends? In any 
case you'll have to give up the printing press and the old type 
and papers—that’s what we must talk about.” 

“Til come,’ Shatov muttered, looking down thoughtfully. 

Pyotr Stepanovitch glanced askance at him from his place. 

‘“* Will Stavrogin be there ?”’? Shatov asked suddenly, raising 
his head. 

** He is certain to be.” 

Ha ha!” 

Again they were silent for a minute. Shatov grinned disdain- 
fully and irritably. 

‘And that contemptible ‘Noble Personality ’ of yours, that 
_ I wouldn’t print here. Has it been printed ?”’ he asked. 

“Ves,” 

““To make the schoolboys believe that Herzen himself had 
written it in your album ?” 

“Yes, Herzen himself.” 


356 «| THE POSSESSED 


Again they were silent for three minutes. At last Shatov got 
up from the bed. | 

“* Go out of my room ; I don’t care to sit with you.” 

‘Tm going,” Pyotr Stepanovitch brought out with adil 
alacrity, getting up at once. ‘‘ Only one word: Kirillov is 
quite alone in the lodge now, isn’t he, without a servant ?”’ 

* Quite alone. Get along; I can’t stand being in the same 
room with you.” 

** Well, you are a pleasant customer now ! ”’ Pyotr Stepanovitch 
reflected gaily as he went out into the street, “‘and you will be 
pleasant this evening too, and that just suits me ; nothing better 
could be wished, nothing better could be wished! ‘The Russian 
God Himself seems helping me.” 


VII 


He had probably been very busy that day on all sorts of errands 
and probably with success, which was reflected in the self-satisfied 
expression of his face when at six o’clock that evening he turned 
up at Stavrogin’s. But he was not at once admitted : Stavrogin 
had just locked himself in the study with Mavriky Nikolaevitch. 
This news instantly made Pyotr Stepanovitch anxious. He 
seated himself close to the study door to wait for the visitor to 
go away. He could hear conversation but could not catch the 
words. The visit did not last long; soon he heard a noise, the 
sound of an extremely loud and abrupt voice, then the door 
opened and Mavriky Nikolaevitch came out with a very pale 
face. He did not notice Pyotr Stepanovitch, and quickly passed 
by. Pyotr Stepanovitch instantly ran into the study. 

I cannot omit a detailed account of the very brief interview 
that had taken place between the two “ rivals ”—an interview 
which might well have seemed impossible under the circum- 
stances, but which had yet taken place. 

This is how it had come about. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
had been enjoying an after-dinner nap on the couch in his study 
when Alexey Yegorytch had announced the unexpected visitor. 
Hearing the name, he had positively leapt up, unwilling to believe 
it. But soon a smile gleamed on his lips—a smile of haughty 
triumph and at the same time of a blank, incredulous wonder, 
The visitor, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, seemed struck by the expres- 
sion of that smile as he came in; anyway, he stood still in the 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 357 


middle of the room as though uncertain whether to come further 
in or to turn back. Stavrogin succeeded at once in transforming 
the expression of his face, and with an air of grave surprise took 
a step towards him. The visitor did not take his outstretched 
hand, but awkwardly moved a chair and, not uttering a word, 
sat down without waiting for his host todo so. Nikolay Vsyevo- 
lodovitch sat down on the sofa facing him obliquely and, looking 
at Mavriky Nikolaevitch, waited in silence. 

“Tf you can, marry Lizaveta Nikolaevna,” Mavriky Nikolae- 
vitch brought out suddenly at last, and what was most curious, 
it was impossible to tell from his tone whether it was an entreaty, 
a recommendation, a surrender, or a command. 

Stavrogin still remained silent, but the visitor had evidently 
said all he had come to say and gazed at him persistently, waiting 
for an answer. 

“Tf I am not mistaken (but it’s quite certain), Lizaveta 
Nikolaevna is already betrothed to you,” Stavrogin said at last. 

“ Promised and betrothed,’ Mavriky Nikolaevitch assented 
firmly and clearly. 

“You have ... quarrelled ?. Excuse me, Mavriky Nikolae- 
vitch.” 

‘* No, she ‘ loves and respects me’; those are her words. Her 
words are more precious than anything.” 

** Of that there can be no doubt.” 

* But let me tell you, if she were standing in the church at 
her wedding and you were to call her, she’d give up me and 
every one and go to you.” 

“From the wedding ?”’ 

“Yes, and after the wedding.” 

* Aren't you making a mistake ?” 

““No. Under her persistent, sincere, and intense hatred for 
you love is flashing out at every moment .. . and madness... 
the sincerest infinite love and ... madness! On the contrary, 
behind the love she feels for me, which is sincere too, every 
moment there are flashes of hatred... the most intense hatred ! 
I could never have fancied all these transitions . . . before.” 

“ But I wonder, though, how could you come here and dispose 
of the hand of Lizaveta Nikolaevna ? Have you the right to 
do so? Has she authorised you?” 

Mavriky Nikolaevitch frowned and for a minute he looked 


down. 
“‘That’s all words on your part,” he brought out suddenly, 


358 THE POSSESSED 


** words of revenge and triumph ; I am sure you can read between 
the lines, and is this the time for petty vanity ? Haven’t you 
satisfaction enough ? Must I really dot my 7’s and go into it 
all? Very well, I will dot my 2’s, if you are so anxious for my 
humiliation. I have no right, it’s impossible for me to be 
authorised ; Lizaveta Nikolaevna knows nothing about it and 
her betrothed has finally lost his senses and is only fit for a 
madhouse, and, to crown everything, has come to tell you so 
himself. You are the only man in the world who can make 
her happy, and I am the one to make her unhappy. You are 
trying to get her, you are pursuing her, but—I don’t know why— 
you won’t marry her. If it’s because of a lovers’ quarrel abroad 
and I must be sacrificed to end it, sacrifice me. She is too 
unhappy and I can’t endure it. My words are not a sanction, 
not a prescription, and so it’s no slur on your pride. If you care 
to take my place at the altar, you can do it without any 
sanction from me, and there is no ground for me to come to you 
with a mad proposal, especially as our marriage is utterly 
impossible after the step I am taking now. I cannot lead her 
to the altar feeling myself an abject wretch. What I am doing 
here and my handing her over to you, perhaps her bitterest foe, 
is to my mind something so abject that I shall never get 
over it.” : 

‘Will you shoot yourself on our wedding day ?”’ 

“* No, much later. Why stain her bridal dress with my blood ? 
Perhaps I shall not shoot myself at all, either now or later.” 

““T suppose you want to comfort me by saying that ?”’ 

“You ? What would the blood of one more mean to you ? ” 

He turned pale and his eyes gleamed. A minute of silence 
followed. 

‘‘ Excuse me for the questions I’ve asked you,”’ Stavrogin began 
again; “‘ some of them I had no business to ask you, but one of 
them I think I have every right to put to you. Tell me, what 
facts have led you to form a conclusion as to my feelings for 
Lizaveta Nikolaevna ? I mean to a conviction of a degree of 
feeling on my part as would justify your coming here . . . and 
risking such a proposal.” 

‘What ?’’ Mavriky Nikolaevitch positively started. “‘ Haven’t 
you been trying to win her? Aren’t you trying to win her, and 
don’t you want to win her ?” 

‘Generally speaking, I can’t speak of my feeling for this 
woman or that to a third person or to anyone except the woman 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY | 359 


herself. You must excuse it, it’s a constitutional peculiarity. 
But to make up for it, Pll tell you the truth about everything 
else; I am married, and it’s impossible for me either to marry 
or to try ‘ to win’ anyone.” 

Mavriky Nikolaevitch was so astounded that he started back 
in his chair and for some time stared fixedly into Stavrogin’s 
face. 

‘Only fancy, I never thought of that,” he muttered. ‘‘ You 
said then, that morning, that you were not married . .. and 
so I believed you were not married.”’ 

He turned terribly pale ; suddenly he brought his fist down on 
the table with all his might. 

“Tf after that confession you don’t leave Lizaveta Nikolaevna 
alone, if you make her unhappy, Pll kill you with my stick like 
a dog in a ditch!” 

He jumped up and walked quickly out of the room. Pyotr 
Stepanovitch, running in, found his host in a most unexpected 
frame of mind. 

‘“‘ Ah, that’s you!’ Stavrogin laughed loudly ; his laughter 
seemed to be provoked simply by the appearance of Pyotr 
Stepanovitch as he ran in with such impulsive curiosity. 

‘Were you listening at the door? Wait a bit. What have 
you come about? I promised you something, didn’t I? Ah, 
bah! I remember, to meet ‘our fellows.’ Let us go. I am 
delighted. You couldn’t have thought of anything more 
appropriate.” 

He snatched up his hat and they both went at once out of the 
house. 

‘Are you laughing beforehand at the prospect of seeing 
‘our fellows’ ?” chirped gaily Pyotr Stepanovitch, dodging 
round him with obsequious alacrity, at one moment trying to 
walk beside his companion on the narrow brick pavement and 
at the next running right into the mud of the road ; for Stavrogin 
walked in the middle of the pavement without observing that 
he left no room for anyone else. 

“T am not laughing at all,” he answered loudly and gaily ; 
‘on the contrary, I am sure that you have the most serious 
set of people there.” 

‘¢* Surly dullards,’ as you once deigned to express it.” 

“Nothing is more amusing sometimes than a surly dullard.”’ 

‘Ah, you mean Mavriky Nikolaevitch ? I am convinced he 
came to give up his betrothed to you, eh? I egged him on to 


360 THE POSSESSED 


do it, indirectly, would you believe it? And if he doesn’t give 
her up, we'll take her, anyway, won’t we—eh ? ” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch knew no doubt that he was running some 
risk in venturing on such sallies, but when he was excited he 
preferred to risk anything rather than to remain in uncertainty. 
Stavrogin only laughed. 

‘You still reckon you'll help me ?”’ he asked. 

“Tf you call me. But you know there’s one way, and the best | 
one.” 

“Do I know your way ?”’ 

‘“‘ Oh no, that’s a secret for the time. Only remember, a secret 
has its price.”’ 

‘I know what it costs,’’ Stavrogin muttered to himself, but 
he restrained himself and was silent. 

“What it costs? What did yousay?” Pyotr Stepanovitch 
was startled. 

‘““T said, ‘Damn you and your secret!’ You’d better be 
telling me who will be there. I know that we are going to a 
name-day party, but who will be there ? ”’ 

** Oh, all sorts! Even Kirillov.” 

** All members of circles ? ”’ | 

“ Hang it all, youareinahurry! There’s not one circle formed 
yet.” 

‘How did you manage to distribute so many manifestoes 
then ?” 

‘‘ Where we are going only four are members of the circle. The 
others on probation are spying on one another with jealous 
eagerness, and bring reports to me. They are a trustworthy set. 
It’s all material which we must organise, and then we must clear 
out. But you wrote the rules yourself, there’s no need to 
explain.” 

‘“‘ Are things going badly then? Is there a hitch ?” 

“Going ? Couldn’t be better. It will amuse you: the first 
thing which has a tremendous effect is giving them titles. Nothing 
has more influence than a title. I invent ranks and duties on 
purpose; I have secretaries, secret spies, treasurers, presidents, 
registrars, their assistants—they like it awfully, it’s taken 
capitally. Then, the next force is sentimentalism, of course. 
You know, amongst us socialism spreads principally through 
sentimentalism. But the trouble is these lieutenants who bite ; 
sometimes you put your foot in it. Then come the out-and-out 
rogues; well, they are a good sort, if you like, and sometimes 


PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY 361 


very useful ; but they waste a lot of one’s time, they want inces- 
sant looking after. And the most important force of all—the 
cement that holds everything together—is their being ashamed 
of having an opinion of their own. That is a force! And 
whose work is it, whose precious achievement is it, that not 
one idea of their own is left in their heads ! They think originality 
a disgrace.” 

‘“ Tf so, why do you take so much trouble ? ” 

‘“‘ Why, if people lie simply gaping at every one, how can you 
resist annexing them ? Can you seriously refuse to believe in 
the possibility of success? Yes, you have the faith, but one 
wants will. It’s just with people like this that success is possible. 
I tell you I could make them go through fire; one has only to 
din it into them that they are not advanced enough. The fools 
reproach me that I have taken in every one here over the central 
committee and ‘the innumerable branches.’ You once blamed 
me for it yourself, but where’s the deception? You and I are 
the central committee and there will be as many branches as 
we like.” 

‘** And always the same sort of rabble ! ” 

“Raw material. Even they will be of use.” 

** And you are still reckoning on me ?”’ 

“You are the chief, you are the head; I shall only be a 
subordinate, your secretary. We shall take to our barque, you 
know ; the oars are of maple, the sails are of silk, at the helm 
sits a fair maiden, Lizaveta Nikolaevna .... hang it, how does 
it go in the ballad ? ” 

‘* He is stuck,”’ laughed Stavrogin. ‘‘ No, I'd better give you 
my version. There you reckon on your fingers the forces that 
make up the circles. All that business of titles and sentimentalism 
is a very good cement, but there is something better ; persuade 
four members of the circle to.do for a fifth on the pretence 
that he is a traitor, and you'll tie them all together with the 
blood they’ve shed as though it were a knot. They’ll be your 
slaves, they won’t dare to rebel or call you to account. 
Ha ha hai” 


“But you... you shall pay for those words,” Pyotr Stepa- 
novitch thought to himself, ‘‘ and this very evening, in fact. You 
go too far.” 


This or something like this must have been Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch’s reflection. They were approaching Virginsky’s house. 
‘“‘ You’ve represented me, no doubt, as a member from abroad, 


362 THE POSSESSED 


an inspector in connection with the Internationale ?”’ Stavrogin 
asked suddenly. 

‘‘ No, not an inspector ; you won’t be an inspector; but you 
are one of the original members from abroad, who knows the 
most important secrets—that’s your réle. You are going to 
speak, of course ? ”’ : 

‘“‘ What’s put that idea into your head ? ” 

‘* Now you are bound to speak.” 

Stavrogin positively stood still in the middle of the street in 
surprise, not far from a street lamp. Pyotr Stepanovitch faced 
his scrutiny calmly and defiantly. Stavrogin cursed and went 
on. 
‘“‘And are you going to speak?” he suddenly asked Pyotr 
Stepanovitch. 

‘“‘ No, I am going to listen to you.” 

‘Damn you, you really are giving me an idea ? ”’ 

‘What idea?” Pyotr Stepanovitch asked quickly. 

‘‘ Perhaps I will speak there, but afterwards I will give you a 
hiding—and a sound one too, you know.” 

‘* By the way, I told Karmazinov this morning that you said 
he ought to be thrashed, and not simply as a form but to hurt, 
as they flog peasants.” 

‘“* But I never said such a thing; ha ha!” 

“No matter. Se non é vero...” 

** Well, thanks. Iam truly obliged.” 

“And another thing. Do you know, Karmazinov says that 
the essence of our creed is the negation of honour, and that by 
the open advocacy of a right to be dishonourable a Russian can 
be won over more easily than by anything.” 

“An excellent saying! Golden words!” cried Stavrogin. 
‘“He’s hit the mark there! The right to dishonour—why, 
they’d all flock to us for that, not one would stay behind! And 
listen, Verhovensky, you are not one of the higher police, are 
you?” 

‘* Anyone who has a question like that in his mind doesn’t 
utter it.” 

‘*‘T understand, but we are by ourselves.” 

‘‘ No, so far J am not one of the higher police. Enough, here 
we are. Compose your features, Stavrogin; I always do mine 
when I goin. A gloomy expression, that’s all, nothing more is 
wanted ; it’s a very simple business.” . 


CHAPTER VII 
A MEETING 
I 


Virarnsky lived in his own house, or rather his wife’s, in 
Muravyin Street. It was a wooden house of one story, and 
there were no lodgers in it. On the pretext of Virginsky’s 
name-day party, about fifteen guests were assembled ; but the 
entertainment was not in the least like an ordinary provincial 
name-day party. From the very beginning of their married 
life the husband and wife had agreed once for all that it was 
utterly stupid to invite friends to celebrate name-days, and that 
** there is nothing to rejoice about in fact.’’ In a few years they 
had succeeded in completely cutting themselves off from all | 
society. Though he was a man of some ability, and by no means 
very poor, he somehow seemed to every one an eccentric fellow 
who was fond of solitude, and, what’s more, ‘“‘ stuck up in con- 
versation.”’ Madame Virginsky was a midwife by profession, 
and by that very fact was on the lowest rung of the social ladder, 
lower even than the priest’s wife in spite of her husband’s rank 
as an officer. But she was conspicuously lacking in the humility 
befitting her position. And after her very stupid and unpardon- 
ably open liaison on principle with Captain Lebyadkin, a notorious 
rogue, even the most indulgent of our ladies turned away from 
her with marked contempt. But Madame Virginsky accepted 
all this as though it were what she wanted. It is remarkable 
that those very ladies applied to Arina Prohorovna (that is, 
Madame Virginsky) when they were in an interesting condition, 
rather than to any one of the other three accoucheuses of the 
town. She was sent for even by country families living in the 
neighbourhood, so great was the belief in her knowledge, luck, 
and skill in critical cases. It ended in her practising only among 
the wealthiest ladies; she was greedy of money. Feeling her 
power to the full, she ended by not putting herself out for 
anyone. Possibly on purpose, indeed, in her practice in the 
best houses she used to scare nervous patients by the most 
incredible and nihilistic disregard of good manners, or by jeering 
at ‘“‘everything holy,” at mies wat time when “ everything 


364 THE POSSESSED 


holy ” might have come in most useful. Our town doctor, 
Rozanov—he too was an accoucheur—asserted most positively 
that on one occasion when a patient in labour was crying out 
and calling on the name of the Almighty, a free-thinking sally 
from Arina Prohorovna, fired off like a pistol-shot, had so 
terrifying an effect on the patient that it greatly accelerated her 
delivery. | 

But though she was a nihilist, Madame Virginsky did not, 
when occasion arose, disdain social or even old-fashioned super- 
stitions and customs if they could be of any advantage to herself. 
She would never, for instance, have stayed away from a baby’s 
christening, and always put on a green silk dress with a train and 
adorned her chignon with curls and ringlets for such events, 
though at other times she positively revelled in slovenliness. 
And though during the ceremony she always maintained “ the 
most insolent air,’’ so that she put the clergy to confusion, yet 
when it was over she invariably handed champagne to the guests 
(it was for that that she came and dressed up), and it was no 
use trying to take the glass without a contribution to her 
** porridge bowl.” 

The guests who assembled that evening at Virginsky’s (mostly 
men) had a casual and exceptional air. There was no supper 
nor cards. In the middle of the large drawing-room, which 
was papered with extremely old blue paper, two tables had been 
put together and covered with a large though not quite clean 
table-cloth, and on them two samovars were boiling. The end 
of the table was taken up by a huge tray with twenty-five glasses 
on it and a basket with ordinary French bread cut into a number 
of slices, as one sees it in genteel boarding-schools for boys or 
girls. The tea was poured out by a maiden lady of thirty, Arina 
Prohorovna’s sister, a silent and malevolent creature, with flaxen 
hair and no eyebrows, who shared her sister’s progressive ideas 
and was an object of terror to Virginsky himself in domestic 
life. There were only three ladies in the room: the lady of the 
house, her eyebrowless sister, and Virginsky’s sister, a girl who 
had just arrived from Petersburg. Arina Prohorovna, a good- 
looking and buxom woman of seven-and-twenty, rather dis- 
hevelled, in an everyday greenish woollen dress, was sitting 
scanning the guests with her bold eyes, and her look seemed in 
haste to say, “‘ You see I am not in the least afraid of anything.” 
Miss Virginsky, a rosy-cheeked student and a nihilist, who was 
also good-looking, short, plump and round as a little ball, had 


A MEETING 365 


settled herself beside Arina Prohorovna, almost in her travelling 
clothes. She held a roll of paper in her hand, and scrutinised the 
guests with impatient and roving eyes. Virginsky himself was 
rather unwell that evening, but he came in and sat in an easy 
chair by the tea-table. All the guests were sitting down too, and 
the orderly way in which they were ranged on chairs suggested 
a meeting. Evidently all were expecting something and were 
filling up the interval with loud but irrelevant conversation. 
When Stavrogin and Verhovensky appeared there was a sudden 
hush. 

But I must be allowed to give a few explanations to make 
things clear. 

I believe that all these people had come together in the agree- 
able expectation of hearing something particularly interesting, 
and had notice of it beforehand. They were the flower of the 
reddest Radicalism of our ancient town, and had been carefully 
picked out by Virginsky for this “‘ meeting.”’ I may remark, 
too, that some of them (though not very many) had never 
visited him before. Of course most of the guests had no clear 
idea why they had been summoned. It was true that at that 
time all took Pyotr Stepanovitch for a fully authorised emissary 
from abroad; this idea had somehow taken root among them 
at once and naturally flattered them. And yet among the citizens 
assembled ostensibly to keep a name-day, there were some who 
had been approached with definite proposals. Pyotr Verho- 
vensky had succeeded in getting together a “‘ quintet ’’ amongst 
us like the one he had already formed in Moscow and, as appeared 
later, In our province among the officers. It was said that he 
had another in X province. This quintet of the elect were 
sitting now at the general table, and very skilfully succeeded in 
giving themselves the air of being quite ordinary people, so that 
no one could have known them. They were—since it is no 
longer a secret—first Liputin, then Virginsky himself, then 
Shigalov (a gentleman with long ears, the brother of Madame 
Virginsky), Lyamshin, and lastly a strange person called Tolka- 
tchenko, a man of forty, who was famed for his vast knowledge 
of the people, especially of thieves and robbers. He used to 
frequent the taverns on purpose (though not only with the object 
of studying the people), and plumed himself on his shabby clothes, 
tarred boots, and crafty wink and a flourish of peasant phrases. 
Lyamshin had once or twice brought him to Stepan Trofimovitch’s 
gatherings, where, however, he did not make a great sensation. 


366 THE POSSESSED 


He used to make his appearance in the town from time to time, 
chiefly when he was out of a job; he was employed on the 
railway. 

Every one of these fine champions had formed this first group 
in the fervent conviction that their quintet was only one of 
hundreds and thousands of similar groups scattered all over 
Russia, and that they all depended on some immense central 
but secret power, which in its turn was intimately connected 
with the revolutionary movement all over Europe. But I regret 
to say that even at that time there was beginning to be dissension 
among them. Though they had ever since the spring been 
expecting Pyotr Verhovensky, whose coming had been heralded 
first by Tolkatchenko and then by the arrival of Shigalov, 
though they had expected extraordinary miracles from him, and 
though they had responded to his first summons without the 
slightest criticism, yet they had no sooner formed the quintet 
than they all somehow seemed to feel insulted; and I really 
believe it was owing to the promptitude with which they con- 
sented to join. They had joined, of course, from a not ignoble 
feeling of shame, for fear people might say afterwards that they 
had not dared to join; still they felt Pyotr Verhovensky ought 
to have appreciated their heroism and have rewarded it by telling 
them some really important bits of news at least. But Verho- 
vensky was not at all inclined to satisfy their legitimate curiosity, 
and told them nothing but what was necessary ; he treated them 
in general with great sternness and even rather casually. This 
was positively irritating, and Comrade Shigalov was already egging 
the others on to insist on his “ explaining himself,’’ though, of 
course, not at Virginsky’s, where so many outsiders were present. 

I have an idea that the above-mentioned members of the first 
quintet were disposed to suspect that among the guests of 
Virginsky’s that evening some were members of other groups, 
unknown to them, belonging to the same secret organisation and 
founded in the town by the same Verhovensky; so that in 
fact all present were suspecting one another, and posed in 
various ways to one another, which gave the whole party 
a very perplexing and even romantic air. Yet there were 
persons present who were beyond all suspicion. For instance, a 
major in the service, a near relation of Virginsky, a perfectly 
innocent person who had not been invited but had come of 
himself for the name-day celebration, so that it was impossible 
not to receive him. But Virginsky was quite unperturbed, as 


A MEETING | 367 


the major was ‘‘incapable of betraying them’”’; for in spite of 
his stupidity he had all his life been fond of dropping in wherever 
extreme Radicals met; he did not sympathise with their ideas 
himself, but was very fond of listening to them. What’s more, 
he had even been compromised indeed. It had happened in his 
youth that whole bundles of manifestoes and of numbers of The 
Bell had passed through his hands, and although he had been 
afraid even to open them, yet he would have considered it 
absolutely contemptible to refuse to distribute them—and there 
are such people in Russia even to this day. 

The rest of the guests were either types of honourable amour- 
propre crushed and embittered, or types of the generous impulsive- 
ness of ardent youth. There were two or three teachers, of 
whom one, a lame man of forty-five, a master in the high school, 
was, a very malicious and strikingly vain person; and two or 
three officers. Of the latter, one very young artillery officer 
who had only just come from a military training school, a silent 
lad who had not yet made friends with anyone, turned up now 
at Virginsky’s with a pencil in his hand, and, scarcely taking 
any part in the conversation, continually made notes in his note- 
book. Everybody saw this, but every one pretended not to. 
There was, too, an idle divinity student who had helped Lyamshin 
to put indecent photographs into the gospel-woman’s pack. 
He was a solid youth with a free-and-easy though mistrustful 
manner, with an unchangeably satirical smile, together with a 
calm air of triumphant faith in his own perfection. There was 
also present, I don’t know why, the mayor’s son, that unpleasant 
and prematurely exhausted youth to whom I have referred 
already in telling the story of the lieutenant’s little wife. He 
was silent the whole evening. Finally there was a very enthusi- 
astic and tousle-headed schoolboy of eighteen, who sat with the 
gloomy air of a young man whose dignity has been wounded, 
evidently distressed by his eighteen years. This infant was 
already the head of an independent group of conspirators which 
had been formed in the highest class of the gymnasium, as it 
came out afterwards to the surprise of every one. 

I haven’t mentioned Shatov. He was there at the farthest 
corner of the table, his chair pushed back a little out of the row. 
He gazed at the ground, was gloomily silent, refused tea and 
bread, and did not for one instant let his cap go out of his hand, 
as though to show that he was not a visitor, but had come on 
business, and when he liked would get up and go away. Kirillov 


368 THE POSSESSED 


was not far from him. He, too, was very silent, but he did not 
look at the ground; on the contrary, he scrutinised intently 
every speaker with his fixed, lustreless eyes, and listened to 
everything without the slightest emotion or surprise. Some of 
the visitors who had never seen him before stole thoughtful 
glances at him. I can’t say whether Madame Virginsky knew 
anything about the existence of the quintet. I imagine she 
knew everything and from her husband. The girl-student, of 
course, took no part in anything ; but she had an anxiety of her 
own : she intended to stay only a day or two and then to go on 
farther and farther from one university town to another “to 
show active sympathy with the sufferings of poor students and 
to rouse them to protest.” She was taking with her some 
hundreds of copies of a lithographed appeal, I believe of her own 
composition. It is remarkable that the schooiboy conceived 
an almost murderous hatred for her from the first moment, 
though he saw her for the first time in his life ; and she felt the 
same for him. The major was her uncle, and met her to-day 
for the first time after ten years. When Stavrogin and Verho- 
vensky came in, her cheeks were as red as cranberries: she had 
just quarrelled with her uncle over his views on the woman 
question. 


Ii 


With conspicuous nonchalance Verhovensky lounged in the 
chair at the upper end of the table, almost without greeting 
anyone. His expression was disdainful and even haughty. 
Stavrogin bowed politely, but in spite of the fact that they were 
all only waiting for them, everybody, as though acting on 
instruction, appeared scarcely to notice them. The lady of the 
house turned severely to Stavrogin as soon as he was seated. 

‘ Stavrogin, will you have tea ?” 

** Please,’ he answered. 

“Tea for Stavrogin,’’ she commanded her sister at the samovar. 
“And you, will you?” (This was to Verhovensky.) 

“Of course. What a question to ask a visitor! And give me 
cream too; you always give one such filthy stuff by way of tea, 
and with a name-day party in the house !”’ 

‘““ What, you believe in keeping name-days too!” the girl- 
student laughed suddenly. “‘ We were just talking of that.” 


A MEETING 369 


“ That’s stale,’ muttered the schoolboy at the other end of 
the table. 

“What’s stale? To disregard conventions, even the most 
innocent is not stale; on the contrary, to the disgrace of every 
one, so far it’s a novelty,” the girl-student answered instantly, 
darting forward on her chair. ‘* Besides, there are no innocent 
conventions,” she added with intensity. 

“I only meant,” cried the schoolboy with tremendous excite- 
ment, “‘ to say that though conventions of course are stale and 
must be eradicated, yet about name-days everybody knows 
that they are stupid and very stale to waste precious time upon, 
which has been wasted. already all over the world, so that it 
would be as well to sharpen one’s wits on something more 
useful. ;....” 

“You drag it out so, one can’t understand what you mean,” 
shouted the girl. 

*““T think that every one has a right to express an opinion as 
well as every one else, and if I want to express my opinion like 
anybody else...” 

** No one is attacking your right to give an opinion,” the lady 
of the house herself cut in sharply. ‘* You were only asked not 
to ramble because no one can make out what you mean.” 

** But allow me to remark that you are not treating me with 
respect. If I,couldn’t fully express my thought, it’s not from 
want of thought but from tco much thought,” the schoolboy 
muttered, almost in despair, losing his thread completely. 

“Tf you don’t know how to talk, you’d better keep quict,”’ 
blurted out the girl. 

The schoolboy positively jumped from his chair. 

‘“‘T only wanted to state,” he shouted, crimson with shame 
and afraid to look about him, ‘“ that you only wanted to 
show off your cleverness because Mr. Stavrogin came in—so 
there !”’ 

*‘ That’s a nasty and immoral idea and shows the worthless- 
ness of your development. I beg you not to address me again,”’ 
the girl rattled off. 

“ Stavrogin,’’ began the lady of the house, “they've been 
discussing the rights of the family before you came—this officer 
here ’’—she nodded towards her relation, the major—“‘ and, of 
course, I am not going to worry you with such stale nonsense, 
which has been dealt with long ago. But how have the rights 
and duties of the family come about in the superstitious form in 

2A 


370 THE POSSESSED 


which they exist at present? That’s the question. What's 
your opinion ? ” | 

‘‘ What do you mean by ‘come about’ ?”’ Stavrogin asked in 
his turn. 

“We know, for instance, that the superstition about God 
came from thunder and lightning.’”’ The girl-student rushed into 
the fray again, staring at Stavrogin with her eyes almost jumping 
out of her head. ‘‘ It’s well known that primitive man, scared 
by thunder and lightning, made a god of the unseen enemy, 
feeling their weakness before it. But how did the superstition 
of the family arise ? How did the family itself arise ? ”’ 

‘‘ That’s not quite the same thing... .””. Madame Virginsky 
tried to check her. 

‘‘f think the answer to this question wouldn’t be quite dis- 
creet,’’ answered Stavrogin. 

‘“* How so ?”’ said the girl-student, craning forward suddenly. 

But there was an audible titter in the group of teachers, which 
was at once caught up at the other end by Lyamshin and the 
schoolboy and followed by a hoarse chuckle from the major. 

‘“‘ You ought to write vaudevilles,’’ Madame Virginsky observed 
to Stavrogin. | 

‘Tt does you no credit, I don’t know what your name is,” the 
girl rapped out with positive indignation. 

‘‘ And don’t you be too forward,”’ boomed the major. ‘‘ You 
are a young lady and you ought to behave modestly, and you 
keep jumping about as though you were sitting on a needle.” 

‘Kindly hold your tongue and don’t address me familiarly 
with your nasty comparisons. I’ve never seen you before and 
I don’t recognise the relationship.” 

“But Iam your uncle; I used to carry you about when you 
weré a baby !” 

‘‘T don’t care what babies you used to carry about. I didn’t 
ask you to carry me. It must have been a pleasure to you to 
do so, you rude officer. And allow me to observe, don’t dare to 
address me so familiarly, unless it’s asa fellow-citizen. I forbid 
you to do it, once for all.” 

‘There, they are all like that !”’ cried the major, banging the 
table with his fist and addressing Stavrogin, who was sitting 
opposite. “‘ But, allow me, I am fond of Liberalism and modern 
ideas, and I am fond of listening to clever conversation ; masculine 
conversation, though, I warn you. But to listen to these women, 
these flighty windmills—no, that makes me ache all over! 


A MEETING 371 


Don’t wriggle about !’’ he shouted to the girl, who was leaping 
up from her chair. “No, it’s my turn to speak, I’ve been 
insulted.” 

“You can’t say anything yourself, and only hinder other 
people talking,” the lady of the house grumbled indignantly. 

“No, I will have my say,” said the major hotly, addressing 
Stavrogin. “I reckon on you, Mr. Stavrogin, as a fresh person 
who has only just come on the scene, though I haven’t the honour 
of knowing you. Without men they’ll perish like flies—that’s 
whatI think. All their woman question is only lack of originality. 
I assure you that all this woman question has been invented for 
them by men in foolishness and to their own hurt. I only thank 
God I am not married. There’s not the slightest variety in 
them, they can’t even invent a simple pattern; they have to 
get men to invent them for them! Here I used to carry her in 
my arms, used to dance the mazurka with her when she was 
ten years old; to-day she’s come, naturally I fly to embrace 
her, and at the second word she tells me there’s no God. She 
might have waited a little, she was in too great a hurry! Clever 
people don’t believe, I dare say ; but that’s from their cleverness. 
But you, chicken, what do you know about God, I said to her. 
‘Some student taught you, and if he’d taught you to light the 
lamp before the ikons you would have lighted it.’ ” 

“You keep telling lies, you are a very spiteful person. I 
proved to you just now the untenability of your position,” the 
girl answered contemptuously, as though disdaining further 
explanations with sucha man. “I told you just now that we’ve 
all been taught in the Catechism if you honour your father and 
your parents you will live long and have wealth. That’s in the 
Ten Commandments. If God thought it necessary to offer rewards 
for love, your God must be immoral. That’s how I proved it 
to you. It wasn’t the second word, and it was because you 
asserted your rights. It’s not my fault if you are stupid and 
don’t understand even now. You are offended and you are 
spiteful—and that’s what explains all your generation.”’ 

‘“*You’re a goose !”’ said the major. 

*“* And you are a fool!” 

‘You can call me names ! ” 

“Excuse me, Kapiton Maximitch, you told me yourself you 
don’t believe in God,” Liputin piped from the other end of the 


table. 
‘“‘ What if I did say so—that’s a different matter. I believe, 


372 THE POSSESSED 


perhaps, only not altogether. Even if I don’t believe altogether, 
still I don’t say God ought to be shot. I used to think about 
God before I left the hussars. From all the poems you would 
think that hussars do nothing but carouse and drink. Yes, I 
did drink, maybe, but would you believe it, I used to jump out 
of bed at night and stood crossing myself before the images 
with nothing but my socks on, praying to God to give me faith ; 
for even then I couldn’t be at peace as to whether there was a 
God or not. It used to fret meso! In the morning, of course, 
one would amuse oneself and one’s faith would seem to be lost 
again; and in fact I’ve noticed that faith always seems to be 
less in the daytime.” 

‘‘Haven’t you any cards?” asked Verhovensky, with a 
mighty yawn, addressing Madame Virginsky. 

‘““T sympathise with your question, I sympathise entirely,” 
the girl-student broke in hotly, flushed with indignation at the 
major’s words. 

‘“‘ We are wasting precious time listening to silly talk,’ snapped 
out the lady of the house, and she looked reprovingly at her 
husband. 

The girl pulled herself together. 

‘“‘T wanted to make a statement to the meeting concerning the 
sufferings of the students and their protest, but as time is being 
wasted in immoral conversation .. .” 

** There’s no such thing as moral or immoral,” the schoolboy 
brought out, unable to restrain himself as soon as the girl began. 

“‘T knew that, Mr. Schoolboy, long before you were taught it.”’ 

‘‘ And I maintain,’ he answered savagely, “that you are a 
child come from Petersburg to enlighten us all, though we know 
for ourselves the commandment ‘honour thy father and thy 
mother,’ which you could not repeat correctly ; and the fact 
that it’s immoral every one in Russia knows from Byelinsky.”’ 

‘“‘ Are we ever to have an end of this ?’’ Madame Virginsky 
said resolutely to her husband. As the hostess, she blushed for 
the ineptitude of the conversation, especially as she noticed 
smiles and even astonishment among the guests who had been 
invited for the first time. 

“Gentlemen,” said Virginsky, suddenly lifting up his voice, 
“if anyone wishes to say anything more nearly connected with 
our business, or has any statement to make, I call upon him to 
do so without wasting time.” | 

“Tl venture to ask one question,” said the lame teacher 


A MEETING 373 


suavely. He had been sitting particularly decorously and had 
not spoken till then. ‘I should like to know, are we some sort 
of meeting, or are we simply a gathering of ordinary mortals 
paying a visit? I ask simply for the sake of order and so as 
not to remain in ignorance.” 

This “sly ” question made an impression. People looked at 
each other, every one expecting some one else to answer, and 
suddenly all, as though at a word of command, turned their eyes 
to Verhovensky and Stavrogin. 

“I suggest our voting on the answer to the question whether 
we are a meeting or not,” said Madame Virginsky. 

“I entirely agree with the suggestion,” Liputin chimed in, 
“though the question is rather vague.” 


“TL agree too.”’ ‘‘ And so do I,” cried voices. 
‘I too think it would make our proceedings more in order,”’ 
confirmed Virginsky. 


“To the vote then,”’ said his wife. ‘*‘ Lyamshin, please sit 
down to the piano ; you can give your vote from there when the 
voting begins.” 

“Again!” cried Lyamshin. ‘I’ve strummed enough for 
you.” 

“1 beg you most particularly, sit down and play. Don’t you 
care to do anything for the cause ?”’ 

“But I assure you, Arina Prohorovna, nobody is eaves- 
dropping. It’s only your fancy. Besides, the windows are 
high, and people would not understand if they did hear.” 

‘* We don’t understand ourselves,’’ some one muttered. 

‘** But I tell you one must always be on one’s guard. I mean 
in case there should be spies,” she explained to Verhovensky. 
‘* Let them hear from the street that we have music and a name- 
day party.” | 

‘Hang it all!” Lyamshin swore, and sitting down to the 
piano, began strumming a valse, banging on the keys almost 
with his fists, at random. 

‘“‘T propose that those who want it to be a meeting should 
put up their right hands,” Madame Virginsky proposed. 

Some put them up, others did not. Some held them up and 
then put them down again and then held them up again. 

‘“ Hoo! I don’t understand it at all,” one officer shouted. 

“1 don’t either,”’ cried the other. 

“‘Oh, I understand,” cried a third, “If it’s yes, you hold 
your hand up.” . 


374 THE POSSESSED 


*‘ But what does ‘ yes’ mean ?” 

‘* Means a meeting.” 

** No, it means not a meeting.” 

“IT voted for a meeting,” cried the schoolboy to Madame 
Virginsky. 

** Then why didn’t you hold up your hand ?”’ 

“‘ T was looking at you. You didn’t hold up yours, so I didn’t 
hold up mine.”’ 

‘‘ How stupid! I didn’t hold up my hand because I proposed 
it. Gentlemen, now I propose the contrary. Those who want 
a meeting, sit still and do nothing; those who don’t, hold up 
their right hands.” 

‘Those who don’t want it ?”’ inquired the schoolboy. 

‘““Are you doing it on purpose?” cried Madame Virginsky 
wrathfully. 

‘*No. Excuse me, those who want it, or those who don’t 
want it? For one must know that definitely,” cried two or 
three voices. 

‘Those who don’t want it—those who don’t want it.” 

‘“‘ Yes, but what is one to do, hold up one’s hand or not hold 
it up if one doesn’t want it ? ” cried an officer. 

a Ech, we are not accustomed to constitutional ethics 
yet !”’ remarked the major. 

‘* Mr. Lyamshin, excuse me, but you are thumping so that 
no one can hear anything,” observed the lame teacher. 

* But, upon my word, Arina Prohorovna, nobody is listening, 
really!” cried Lyamshin, jumping up. “I won't play! Ive 
come to you as a visitor, not as a drummer ! Lie? 

‘*Gentlemen,’’ Virginsky went on, “‘ answer verbally, are we 
a meeting or not ?”’ 

“Weare! Weare!’ was heard on all sides. 

“Tf so, there’s no need to vote, that’s enough. Are you 
satisfied, gentlemen ? Is there any need to put it to the vote ?”’ 

‘* No need—no need, we understand.” 

** Perhaps some one doesn’t want it to be a meeting ?”’ 

** No, no; we all want it.” 

‘** But what does ‘ meeting’ mean ?”’ cried a voice. 

No one answered. 

‘““'We must choose a chairman,” people cried from different 
parts of the room. 

** Our host, of course, our host! ” 

“Gentlemen, if so,” Virginsky, the chosen chairman, began, 


A MEETING 375 


“T propose my original motion. If anyone wants to say any- 
thing more relevant to the subject, or has some statement to 
make, let him bring it forward without loss of time.” 

There was a general silence. The eyes of all were turned again 
on Verhovensky and Stavrogin. 

* Verhovensky, have you no statement to make ?’’ Madame 
Virginsky asked him directly. 

** Nothing whatever,’ he answered, yawning and stretching 
on his chair. ‘* But I should like a glass of brandy.” 

“ Stavrogin, don’t you want to?” 

Thank you, I don’t drink.” 

* I mean don’t you want to speak, not don’t you want brandy.”’ 

“To speak, what about? No, I don’t want to.” 

“They'll bring you some brandy,’’ she answered Verhovensky. 

The girl-student got up. She had darted up several times 
already. 

“I have come to make a statement about the sufferings of 
poor students and the means of rousing them to protest.” 

But she broke off. At the other end of the table a rival had 
risen, and all eyes turned to him. Shigalov, the man with the 
long ears, slowly rose from his seat with a gloomy and sullen 
air and mournfully laid on the table a thick notebook filled with 
extremely small handwriting. He remained standing in silence. 
Many people looked at the notebook in consternation, but 
Liputin, Virginsky, and the lame teacher seemed pleased. 

““T ask leave to address the meeting,” Shigalov pronounced 
sullenly but resolutely. 

‘“* You have leave.” Virginsky gave his sanction. 

The orator sat down, was silent for half a minute, and pro- 
nounced in a solemn voice, 

** Gentlemen ! ”’ 

‘**Here’s the brandy,” the sister who had been pouring out 
tea and had gone to fetch brandy rapped out, contemptuously 
and disdainfully putting the bottle before Verhovensky, together 
with the wineglass which she brought in her fingers without a 
tray or a plate. 

The interrupted orator made a dignified pause. 

‘‘ Never mind, go on, I am not listening,’ cried Verhovensky, 
pouring himself out a glass. 7 

“Gentlemen, asking your attention and, as you will see later, 
soliciting your aid in a matter of the first importance,”’ Shigalov 
began again, ‘‘I must make some prefatory remarks.” 


376 THE POSSESSED 


‘“‘ Arina Prohorovna, haven’t you some scissors?” Pyotr 
Stepanovitch asked suddenly. © | 

‘‘ What do you want scissors for ?”’ she asked, with wide-open 
eyes. 

‘““Tve forgotten to cut my nails; Pve been meaning to for 
the last three days,’ he observed, scrutinising his long and dirty 
nails with unruffled composure. 

Arina Prohorovna crimsoned, but Miss Virginsky seemed 
pleased. 

“I believe I saw them just now on the window.” She got 
up from the table, went and found the scissors, and at once 
brought them. Pyotr Stepanovitch did not even look at her, 
took the scissors, and set to work with them. Arina Prohorovna 
grasped that these were realistic manners, and was ashamed of 
her sensitiveness. People looked at one another in silence. The 
lame teacher looked vindictively and enviously at Verhovensky. 
Shigalov went on. 

‘* Dedicating my energies to the study of the social organisa- 
tion which is in the future to replace the present condition of 
things, I’ve come to the conviction that all makers of social 
systems from ancient times up to the present year, 187-, have 
been dreamers, tellers of fairy-tales, fools who contradicted 
themselves, who understood nothing of natural science and the 
strange animal called man. Plato, Rousseau, Fourier, columns 
of aluminium, are only fit for sparrows and not for human 
society. But, now that we are all at last preparing to act, a 
new form of social organisation is essential. In order to avoid 
further uncertainty, I propose my own system of world- 
organisation. Here it is.’ He tapped the notebook. “I 
wanted to expound my views to the meeting in the most concise 
form possible, but I see that I should need to add a great many 
verbal explanations, and so the whole exposition would occupy 
at least ten evenings, one for each of my chapters.” (There 
was the sound of laughter.) ‘“‘I must add, besides, that my 
system is not yet complete.” (Laughter again.) ‘‘I am per- 
plexed by my own data and my conclusion is a direct contra- 
diction of the original idea with which I start. Starting from 
unlimited freedom, I arrive at unlimited despotism. I will add, 
however, that there can be no solution of the social problem 
but mine.” 

The laughter grew louder and louder, but it came chiefly from 
the younger and less initiated visitors. There was an expression 


A MEETING 377 


of some annoyance on the faces of Madame Virginsky, Liputin, 
and the lame teacher. 

“Tf you’ve been unsuccessful in making your system con- 
sistent, and have been reduced to despair yourself, what could 
we do with it ?”’ one officer observed warily. 

“You are right, Mr. Officer ’°—Shigalov turned sharply to 
him—“ especially in using the word despair. Yes, 1 am reduced 
to despair. Nevertheless, nothing can take the place of the 
system set forth in my book, and there is no other way out of 
it; no one can invent anything else. And so I hasten without 
loss of time to invite the whole society to listen for ten evenings 
to my book and then give their opinions of it. If the members 
are unwilling to listen to me, let us break up from the start— 
the men to take up service under government, the women to 
their cooking ; for if you reject my solution you'll find no other, 
none whatever! If they let the opportunity slip, it will simply 
be their loss, for they will be bound to come back to it again.” 

There was a stir in the company. “Is he mad, or what?” 
voices asked. 

“So the whole point lies in Shigalov’s despair,’? Lyamshin 
commented, *“‘and the essential question is whether he must 
_ despair or not ?”’ 

‘“‘Shigalov’s being on the brink of despair is a personal 
question,” declared the schoolboy. 

‘“‘T propose we put it to the vote how far Shigalov’s despair 
affects the common cause, and at the same time whether it’s 
worth while listening to him or not,” an officer suggested gaily. 

“That’s not right.”” The lame teacher put in his spoke at 
last. As a rule he spoke with a rather mocking smile, so that 
it was difficult to make out whether he was in earnest or joking. 
““ That’s not right, gentlemen. Mr. Shigalov is too much devoted 
to his task and is also too modest. I know his book. He 
suggests as a final solution of the question the division of man- 
kind into two unequal parts. One-tenth enjoys absolute liberty 
and unbounded power over the other nine-tenths. The others 
have to give up all individuality and become, so to speak, a 
herd, and, through boundless submission, will by a series of 
regenerations attain primeval innocence, something like the 
Garden of Eden. They’ll have to work, however. The measures 
proposed by the author for depriving nine-tenths of mankind 
of their freedom and transforming them into a herd through the 
education of whole generations are very remarkable, founded 


378 THE POSSESSED 


on the facts of nature and highly logical. One may not agree 
with some of the deductions, but it would be difficult to doubt 
the intelligence and knowledge of the author. It’s a pity that 
the time required—ten evenings—is impossible to arrange for, 
or we might hear a great deal that’s interesting.” 

‘**Can you be in earnest ?’’ Madame Virginsky addressed the 
lame gentleman with a shade of positive uneasiness in her voice, 
‘‘ when that man doesn’t know what to do with people and so 
turns nine-tenths of them into slaves? I’ve suspected him for 
a long time.” 

** You say that of your own brother ?”’ asked the lame man. 

** Relationship ? Are you laughing at me ?”’ 

‘** And besides, to work for aristocrats and to obey them as 
though they were gods is contemptible!’ observed the girl- 
student fiercely. 

‘‘What I propose is not contemptible; it’s paradise, an 
earthly paradise, and there can be no other on earth,” Shigalov 
pronounced authoritatively. 

‘“‘For my part,’ said Lyamshin, “if I didn’t know what to 
do with nine-tenths of mankind, I’d take them and blow them 
up into the air instead of putting them in paradise. DPdonly 
leave a handful of educated people, who would live happily ever 
afterwards on scientific principles.” 

‘No one but a buffoon can talk like that!” cried the girl, 
flaring up. 

‘““He is a buffoon, but he is of use,’?’ Madame Virginsky 
whispered to her. 

‘* And possibly that would be the best solution of the problem,” 
said Shigalov, turning hotly to Lyamshin. ‘ You certainly 
don’t know what a profound thing you’ve succeeded in saying, 
my merry friend. But as it’s hardly possible to carry out your 
idea, we must confine ourselves to an earthly paradise, since that’s 
what they call it.”’ 

‘This is pretty thorough rot,” broke, as though involuntarily, 
from Verhovensky. Without even raising his eyes, however, he 
went on cutting his nails with perfect nonchalance. 

‘Why is it rot?”? The lame man took it up instantly, as 
though he had been lying in wait for his first words to catch at 
them. ‘‘ Why is it rot? Mr. Shigalov is somewhat fanatical 
in his love for humanity, but remember that Fourier, still more 
Cabet and even Proudhon himself, advocated a number of the 
most despotic and even fantastic measures. Mr. Shigalov is 


A MEETING 379 


perhaps far more sober in his suggestions than they are. I assure 
you that when one reads his book it’s almost impossible not to 
agree with some things. He is perhaps less far from realism 
than anyone and his earthly paradise is almost the real 
one—if it ever existed—for the loss of which man is always 
sighing.” 

‘““I knew I was in for something,’”’ Verhovensky muttered 
again. 

“Allow me,” said the lame man, getting more and more 
excited. “Conversations and arguments about the future 
organisation of society are almost an actual necessity for all 
thinking people nowadays. Herzen was occupied with nothing 
else all his life. Byelinsky, as I know on very good authority, 
used to spend whole evenings with his friends debating and 
settling beforehand even the minutest, so to speak, domestic, 
details of the social organisation of the future.” 

** Some people go crazy over it,” the major observed suddenly. 

** We are more likely to arrive at something by talking, any- 
way, than by sitting silent and posing as dictators,” Liputin 
hissed, as though at last venturing to begin the attack. 

** T didn’t mean Shigalov when I said it was rot,’ Verhovensky 
mumbled. ‘* You see, gentlemen,’’—he raised his eyes a trifle— 
“to my mind all these books, Fourier, Cabet, all this talk about 
the right to work, and Shigalov’s theories—are all like novels 
of which one can write a hundred thousand—an esthetic enter- 
tainment. I can understand that in this little town you are 
bored, so you rush to ink and paper.” 

‘** Excuse me,” said the lame man, wriggling on his chair, 
‘though we are provincials and of course objects of commisera- 
tion on that ground, yet we know that so far nothing has happened 
in the world new enough to be worth our weeping at having 
missed it. It is suggested to us in various pamphlets made 
abroad and secretly distributed that we should unite and form 
groups with the sole object of bringing about universal destruc- 
tion. It’s urged that, however much you tinker with the world, 
you can’t make a good job of it, but that by cutting off a hundred 
million heads and so lightening one’s burden, one can Jump over 
the ditch more safely. A fine idea, no doubt, but quite as 
impracticable as Shigalov’s theories, which you referred to just 
now so contemptuously.”’ 

‘Well, but I haven’t come here for discussion.” Verhovensky 
let drop this significant phrase, and, as though quite unaware 


380 THE POSSESSED 


of his blunder, drew the candle nearer to him that he might see 
better. i 

“It’s a pity, a great pity, that you haven’t come for discussion, 
and it’s a great pity that you are so taken up just now with 
your toilet.” 

‘* What’s my toilet to you?” 

‘“To remove a hundred million heads is as difficult as to 
transform the world by propaganda. Possibly more difficult, 
especially in Russia,’ Liputin ventured again. 

‘It’s Russia they rest their hopes on now,”’’ said an officer. 

‘‘ We've heard they are resting their hopes on it,” interposed 
the lame man. ‘‘ We know that a mysterious finger is pointing 
to our delightful country as the land most fitted to accomplish 
the great task. But there’s this: by the gradual solution of 
the problem by propaganda I shall gain something, anyway— 
I shall have some pleasant talk, at least, and shall even get some 
recognition from government for my services to the cause of 
society. But in the second way, by the rapid method of cutting 
off a hundred million heads, what benefit shall I get personally ? 
If you began advocating that, your tongue might be cut out.” 

‘‘ Yours certainly would be,” observed Verhovensky. 

“You see. And as under the most favourable circumstances 
you would not get through such a massacre in less than fifty or 
at the best thirty years—for they are not sheep, you know, and 
perhaps they would not let themselves be slaughtered—wouldn’t 
it be better to pack one’s bundle and migrate to some quiet 
island beyond calm seas and there close one’s eyes tranquilly ? 
Believe me ’’—he tapped the table significantly with his finger— 
“you will only promote emigration by such propaganda and 
nothing else ! ”’ 

He finished evidently triumphant. He was one of the intellects 
of the province. Liputin smiled slyly, Virginsky listened rather 
dejectedly, the others followed the discussion with great atten- 
tion, especially the ladies and officers. They all realised that 
the advocate of the hundred million heads theory had been driven 
into a corner, and waited to see what would come of it. 

“That was a good saying of yours, though,’ Verhovensky 
mumbled more carelessly than ever, in fact with an air of positive 
boredom. ‘‘ Emigration is a good idea. But all the same, if 
in spite of all the obvious disadvantages you foresee, more 
and more come forward every day ready to fight for the 
common cause, it will be able to do without you. It’s a new 


A MEETING 381 


religion, my good friend, coming to take the place of the old 
one. That’s why so many fighters come forward, and it’s a 
big movement. You'd better emigrate! And, you know, I 
should advise Dresden, not ‘the calm islands.’ To begin 
with, it’s a town that has never been visited by an epidemic, 
and as you are a man of culture, no doubt you are afraid of 
death. Another thing, it’s near the Russian frontier, so you 
can more easily receive your income from your beloved Father- 
land. Thirdly, it contains what are called treasures of art, and 
you are a man of esthetic tastes, formerly a teacher of literature, 
I believe. And, finally, it has a miniature Switzerland of its 
own—to provide you with poetic inspiration, for no doubt you 
write verse. In fact it’s a treasure in a nutshell ! ” 

There was a general movement, especially among the officers. 
In another instant they would have all begun talking at once. 
But the lame man rose irritably to the bait. 

‘‘No, perhaps I am not going to give up the common cause. 
You must understand that .. .” 

‘What, would you join the quintet if I proposed it to you ?” 
Verhovensky boomed suddenly, and he laid down the scissors. 

Every one seemed startled. The mysterious man had revealed 
himself too freely. He had even spoken openly of the “ quintet.” 

‘* Every one feels himself to be an honest man and will not 
shirk his part in the common cause ’’—the lame man tried to 
wriggle out of it—*“ but .. .” 

** No, this is not a question which allows of a but,’’ Verhovensky 
interrupted harshly and peremptorily. “I tell you, gentlemen, 
I must have a direct answer. I quite understand that, having 
come here and having called you together myself, I am bound 
to give you explanations”’ (again an unexpected revelation), 
‘but I can give you none till I know what is your attitude to 
the subject. To cut the matter short—for we can’t go on talking 
for another thirty years as people have done for the last thirty— 
I ask you which you prefer: the slow way, which consists in 
the composition of socialistic romances and the academic ordering 
of the destinies of humanity a thousand years hence, while 
despotism will swallow the savoury morsels which would almost 
fly into your mouths of themselves if you’d take a little trouble ; 
or do you, whatever it may imply, prefer a quicker way which 
will at last untie your hands, and will let humanity make its 
own social organisation in freedom and in action, not on paper ? 
They shout ‘a hundred million heads’; that may be only a 


382 THE POSSESSED 


g 


metaphor ; but why be afraid of it if, with the slow day-dreams 
on paper, despotism in the course of some hundred years will 
devour not a hundred but five hundred million heads? Take 
note too that an incurable invalid will not be cured whatever 
prescriptions are written for him on paper. On the contrary, 
if there is delay, he will grow so corrupt that he will infect us 
too and contaminate all the fresh forces which one might still 
reckon upon now, so that we shall all at last come to grief 
together. I thoroughly agree that it’s extremely agreeable to 
chatter liberally and eloquently, but action is a little trying. .. . 
However, I am no hand at talking ; I came here with communica- 
tions, and so I beg all the honourable company not to vote, but 
simply and directly to state which you prefer: walking at a 
snail’s pace in the marsh, or putting on full steam to get across it ?”’ 

‘“‘T am certainly for crossing at full steam !’’ cried the school- 
boy in an ecstasy. 

“So am I,”? Lyamshin chimed in. 

** There can be no doubt about the choice,’ muttered an officer, 
followed by another, then by some one else. What struck them 
all most was that Verhovensky had come “ with communica- 
tions ’’ and had himself just promised to speak. 

‘“‘ Gentlemen, I see that almost all decide for the policy of the 
manifestoes,’’ he said, looking round at the company. 

“All, all!’ cried the majority of voices. 

“I confess I am rather in favour of a more humane policy,” 
said the major, “ but as all are on the other side, I go with all 
the rest.” 

‘It appears, then, that even you are not opposed to it,”’ said 
Verhovensky, addressing the lame man. 

‘““T am not exactly ...’’ said the latter, turning rather red, 
“ but-if I do agree with the rest now, it’s simply not to break 
WD Le) ea 

“You are all like that! Ready to argue for six months to 
practise your Liberal eloquence and in the end you vote the same 
as the rest! Gentlemen, consider though, is it true that you 
are all ready ?”’ 

(Ready for what? The question was vague, but very 
alluring.) | 

“ All are, of course !”’ voices were heard. But all were looking 
at one another. | 

‘But afterwards perhaps you will resent having agreed so 
quickly ? That’s almost always the way with you.” 


A MEETING 383 


The company was excited in various ways, greatly excited. 
The lame man flew at him. 

“ Allow me to observe, however, that answers to such questions 
are conditional. Even if we have given our decision, you must 
note that questions put in such a strange way .. .” 

“In what strange way ?”’ 

“In a way such questions are not asked.” 

“Teach me how, please. But do you know, I felt sure you’d 
be the first to take offence.” 

“ You've extracted from us an answer as to our readiness for 
immediate action ; but what right had you to do so? By 
what authority do you ask such questions ? ”’ 

“You should have thought of asking that question sooner ! 
Why did you answer? You agree and then you go back on 
it!” 

“But to my mind the irresponsibility of your principal 
question suggests to me that you have no authority, no right, 
and only asked from personal curiosity.” 

“What do you mean? What do you mean ?”’ cried Verho- 
vensky, apparently beginning to be much alarmed. 

“Why, that the initiation of new members into anything you 
like is done, anyway, téte-d-téte and not in the company of twenty 
people one doesn’t know!” blurted out the lame man. Hehad 
said all that was in his mind because he was too irritated to 
restrain himself. Verhovensky turned to the general company 
with a capitally simulated look of alarm. 

“Gentlemen, I deem it my duty to declare that all this is 
folly, and that our conversation has gone too far. I have so 
far initiated no one, and no one has the right to say of me that 
I initiate members. We were simply discussing our opinions. 
That’s so, isn’t it? But whether that’s so or not, you alarm 
me very much.’ He turned to the lame man again. “I 
had no idea that it was unsafe here to speak of such practi- 
cally innocent matters except téte-d-téie. Are you afraid of 
informers ? Can there possibly be an informer among us 
here ?”’ 

The excitement became tremendous ; all began talking. 

‘““ Gentlemen, if that is so,’ Verhovensky went on, “‘I have 
compromised myself more than anyone, and so I will ask you 
to answer one question, if you care to, of course. You are all 
perfectly free.” 

‘What question ? What question ?”’ every one clamoured. 


384 THE POSSESSED 


“* A question that will make it clear whether we are to remain 
together, or take up our hats and go our several ways without 
speaking.” 

‘The question! The question !” 

“‘Tf any one of us knew of a proposed political murder, would 
he, in view of all the consequences, go to give information, or 
would he stay at home and await events ? Opinions may differ 
on this point. The answer to the question will tell us clearly 
whether we are to separate, or to remain together and for far 
longer than this one evening. Let me appeal to you first.”” He 
turned to the lame man. 

“Why to me first ?” 

‘* Because you began it all. Beso good as not to prevaricate ; 
it won’t help you to be cunning. But please yourself, it’s for 
you to decide.” 

‘“‘ Excuse me, but such a question is positively insulting.” 

** No, can’t you be more exact than that ?” 

‘“‘[’ve never been an agent of the Secret Police,” replied the 
latter, wriggling more than ever. | 

‘“ Be so good as to be more definite, don’t keep us waiting.” 

The lame man was so furious that he left off answering. 
Without a word he glared wrathfully from under his spectacles 
at his tormentor. 

““Yesorno? Would youinform or not ?” cried Verhovensky. 

*“ Of course [ wouldn’t,”’ the lame man shouted twice as 
loudly. 

‘“‘ And no one would, of course not !”’ cried many voices. 

“‘ Allow me to appeal to you, Mr. Major. Would you inform 
or not ?”’ Verhovensky went on. “And note that I appeal to 
you on purpose.” 

‘“*T won’t inform.” 

* But if you knew that some one meant to rob and murder 
some one else, an ordinary mortal, then you would inform and 
give warning ?”’ 

“Yes, of course; but that’s a private affair, while the other 
would be a political treachery. I’ve never been an agent of the 
Secret Police.”’ 

“And no one here has,” voices cried again. ‘It’s an un- 
necessary question. Every one will make the same answer. 
There are no informers here.”’ 

“ What is that gentleman getting up for?” cried the girl- 
student. 


A MEETING 385 


‘That's Shatov. What are you getting up for ?”’ cried the 
lady of the house. 

Shatov did, in fact, stand up. He was holding his cap in his 
hand and looking at Verhovensky. Apparently he wanted to 
say something to him, but was hesitating. His face was pale 
and wrathful, but he-controlled himself. He did not say one 
word, but in silence walked towards the door. 

“Shatov, this won’t make things better for you!” Verho- 
vensky called after him enigmatically. 

“ But it will for you, since you are a spy and a scoundrel !”’ 
Shatov shouted to him from the door, and he went out. 

Shouts and exclamations again. 

* That’s what comes of a test,” cried a voice. 

*‘ It’s been of use,’’ cried another. 

*““ Hasn’t it been of use too late ?’”’ observed a third. 

“Who invited him ? Who let him in? Whois he? Who is 
Shatov ? Will he inform, or won’t he?’”’ There was a shower of 
questions. 

““ If he were an informer he would have kept up appearances 
instead of cursing it all and going away,” observed some one. 

“See, Stavrogin is getting up too. Stavrogin has not 
_ answered the question either,’’ cried the girl-student. 

Stavrogin did actually stand up, and at the other end of the 
table Kirillov rose at the same time. 

‘““ Excuse me, Mr. Stavrogin,’ Madame Virginsky addressed 
him sharply, “‘ we all answered the question, while you are going 
away without a word.” 

“TI see no necessity to answer the question which interests 
you,” muttered Stavrogin. 

“* But we’ve compromised ourselves and you won't,” shouted 
several voices. 

‘“‘ What business is it of mine if you have compromised your- 
selves ?”’ laughed Stavrogin, but his eyes flashed. 

‘‘ What business ? What business ?”’ voices exclaimed. 

Many people got up from their chairs. 

‘Allow me, gentlemen, allow me,” cried the lame man. 
“Mr. Verhovensky hasn’t answered the question either ; he has 
only asked it.”’ 

The remark produced a striking effect. All looked at one 
another. Stavrogin laughed aloud in the lame man’s face and 
went out; Kirillov followed him: Verhovensky ran after them 
into the passage. F 

B 


386 THE POSSESSED 


‘‘ What are you doing ?”’ he faltered, seizing Stavrogin’s hand 
and gripping it with all his might in his. Stavrogin pulled away 
his hand without a word. 

‘Be at Kirillov’s directly, [ll come. ... It’s absolutely 
necessary for me to see you! .. .” 

“ Tt-isn’t necessary for me,’”’ Stavrogin cut him short. 

“‘ Stavrogin will be there,’’ Kirillov said finally. ‘‘ Stavrogin, 
it is necessary for you. I will show you that there.” 

They went out. 


CHAPTER VIII 
IVAN THE TSAREVITCH 


Tuery had gone. Pyotr Stepanovitch was about to rush back 
to the meeting to bring order into chaos, but probably reflecting 
that it wasn’t worth bothering about, left everything, and two 
minutes later was flying after the other two. On the way he 
remembered a short cut to Filipov’s house. He rushed along 
it, up to his knees in mud, and did in fact arrive at the very 
moment when Stavrogin and Kirillov were coming in at the 
gate. 

‘“You here already?” observed Kirillov. ‘‘ That’s good. 
Come in.” | 

‘“ How is it you told us you lived alone, 
passing a boiling samovar in the passage. 

** You will see directly who it is I live with,’’ muttered Kirillov. 
“ Go in.” 

They had hardly entered when Verhovensky at once took 
out of his pocket the anonymous letter he had taken from 
Lembke, and laid it before Stavrogin. ‘They all then sat down. 
Stavrogin read the letter in silence. 

** Well ? ” he asked. 

‘* That scoundrel will do as he writes,”’ Verhovensky explained. 
“So, as he is under your control, tell me how to act. I assure 
you he may go to Lembke to-morrow.” 

‘* Well, let him go.” 

‘“‘Let him go! And when we can prevent him, too!” 

“You are mistaken. He is not dependent on me. Besides, 
I don’t care; he doesn’t threaten me in any way; he only 
threatens you.” 

** You too.” 

**T don’t think so.”’ 

‘* But there are other people who may not spare you. Surely 
you understand that? Listen, Stavrogin. This is only playing 
with words. Surely you don’t grudge the money ?”’ 

‘“Why, would it cost money ?”’ 

‘It certainly would ; two thousand or at least fifteen hundred. 
Give it to me to-morrow or even to-day, and to-morrow evening 

387 


3? 


asked Stavrogin, 


388 THE POSSESSED 


Tll send him to Petersburg for you. That’s just what he wants. 
If you like, he can take Marya Timofyevna. Note that.” 

There was something distracted about him. He spoke, as 
it were, without caution, and he did not reflect on his words. 
Stavrogin watched him, wondering. 

‘‘T’ve no reason to send Marya Timofyevna away.” 

‘‘ Perhaps you don’t even want to,’’ Pyotr Stepanovitch smiled 
ironically. 

‘* Perhaps I don’t.”’ 

‘*In short, will there be the money or not?” he cried with 
angry impatience, and as it were peremptorily, to Stavrogin. 
The latter scrutinised him gravely. 

‘‘There won’t be the money.” 

‘“Look here, Stavrogin! You know something, or have 
done something already! You are going it!” 

His face worked, the corners of his mouth twitched, and he 
suddenly laughed an unprovoked and irrelevant laugh. 

‘‘ But you’ve had money from your father for the estate,” 
Stavrogin observed calmly. ‘“‘Maman sent you six or eight 
thousand for Stepan Trofimovitch. So you can pay the fifteen 
hundred out of your own money. I don’t care to pay for 
other people. I’ve given a lot as it is. It annoys me... .” 
He smiled himself at his own words. 

‘“* Ah, you are beginning to joke! ”’ 

Stavrogin got up from his chair. Verhovensky instantly 
jumped up too, and mechanically stood with his back to the 
door as though barring the way to him. Stavrogin had already 
made a motion to push him aside and go out, when he stopped 
short. 

‘IT won’t give up Shatov to you,” he said. Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch started. They looked at one another. 

**T told you this evening why you needed Shatov’s blood,”’ 
said Stavrogin, with flashing eyes. ‘It’s the cement you want 
to bind your groups together with. You drove Shatov away 
cleverly just now. You knew very well that he wouldn’t 
promise not to inform and he would have thought it mean to 
lie to you. But what do you want with me? What do you 
want with me? Tver since we met abroad you won’t let me 
alone. The explanation you’ve given me so far was simply 
raving. Meanwhile you are driving at my giving Lebyadkin 
fifteen hundred roubles, so as to give Fedka an opportunity to 
murder him. I know that you think I want my wife murdered 


IVAN THE TSAREVITCH 389 


too. You think to tie my hands by this crime, and have me 
.In your power. That’s it, isn’t it? What good will that be 
to you? What the devil do you want with me? Look 
at me. Once for all, am I the man for you? And let me 
alone.”’ 

‘“Has Fedka been to you himself?’ Verhovensky asked 
breathlessly. 

“Yes, he came. His price is fifteen hundred too.... 
But here; he’ll repeat it himself. There hestands.’’ Stavrogin 
stretched out his hand. 

Pyotr Stepanovitch turned round quickly. A new figure, 
Fedka, wearing a sheep-skin coat, but without a cap, as though 
he were at home, stepped out of the darkness in the doorway. 
He stood there laughing and showing his even white teeth. 
His black eyes, with yellow whites, darted cautiously about the 
room watching the gentlemen. There was something he did not 
understand. He had evidently been just brought.in by Kirillov, 
and his inquiring eyes turned to the latter. He stood in the 
doorway, but was unwilling to come into the room. 

‘* T suppose you got him ready here to listen to our bargaining, 
or that he may actually see the money in our hands. Is thatit ?”’ 
asked Stavrogin ; and without waiting for an answer he walked 
out of the house. Verhovensky, almost frantic, overtook him 
at the gate. 

“Stop! Not another step!” he cried, seizing him by the 
arm. Stavrogin tried to pull away his arm, but did not succeed. 
He was overcome with fury. Seizing Verhovensky by the hair 
with his left hand he flung him with all his might on the ground 
and went out at the gate. But he had not gone thirty paces 
before Verhovensky overtook him again. 

‘“‘ Let us make it up; let us make it up!’ he murmured in a 
spasmodic whisper. 

Stavrogin shrugged his shoulders, but neither answered nor 
turned round. 

‘Listen. I will bring you Lizaveta Nikolaevna to-morrow ; 
shall 1? No? Why don’t you answer? Tell me what you 
want. Tlldoit. Listen. Dll let youhave Shatov. ShallI?” 

“Then it’s true that you meant to kill him?” cried 
Stavrogin. 

‘‘What do you want with Shatov? What is he to you?” 
Pyotr Stepanovitch went on, gasping, speaking rapidly. He 
was in a frenzy, and kept running forward and seizing Stavrogin 


390 ' ‘THE POSSESSED 


by the elbow, probably unaware of what he was doing. ‘ Listen. 
Til let you have him. Let’s make it up. Your price is a very. 
great one, but... .. Let’s make it up!” 

Stavrogin glanced at him at last, and was amazed. The 
eyes, the voice, were not the same as always, or as they had 
been in the room just now. What he saw was almost another 
face. The intonation of the voice was different. Verhovensky 
besought, implored. _He was.a man from whom what was most 
precious was being taken or had been taken, and who was still 
stunned by the shock. 

‘“‘ But what’s the matter with you?” cried Stavrogin. The 
other did not answer, but ran after him and gazed at him with 
the same imploring but yet inflexible expression. | 

‘“‘Let’s make it up!’ he whispered once more. “ Listen. 
Like Fedka, I have a knife in my boot, but PH make it up 
with you!” 

‘But what do you want with me, damn you?” Stavrogin 
cried, with intense anger and amazement. “Is there some 
mystery about it ? Am I a sort of talisman for you ?”’ 

‘Listen. We are going to make a revolution,’ the other 
muttered rapidly, and almost in delirium. ‘‘ You don’t believe 
we shall make a revolution? We are going to make such an 
upheaval that everything will be uprooted from its foundation. 
Karmazinov is right that there is nothing to lay hold of. Kar- 
mazinov is very intelligent. Another ten such groups in different 
parts of Russia—and I am safe.”’ 

“Groups of fools like that?” broke reluctaritly from 
Stavrogin. 

‘‘ Oh, don’t. be so clever, Stavrogin ; don’t be so clever yourself. 
And.you know you are by no means so intelligent that you need 
wish others to be. You are afraid, you have no faith. You are 
frightened at our doing things on such a scale. And why are 
they fools? They are not such fools. No one has a mind of 
his own nowadays. There are terribly few original minds 
nowadays. Virginsky is a pure-hearted man, ten times as 
pure as you or I; but never mind about him. Liputin is a 
rogue, but I know one point about him.. Every rogue has some 
point in him. . . . Lyamshin is the only one who hasn’t, but he 
is in my hands. A few more groups, and I should have money 
and passports everywhere ; so much at least. Suppose it were 


only that ?. And safe places, so that they can search as they | 


like. They might uproot one group but they’d stick at the next. 


IVAN THE TSAREVITCH 391 


We'll set things in a ferment. . . . Surely you don’t think that 
we two are not enough ?”’ 

** Take Shigalov, and let mealone. .. . 

“ Shigalov is a man of genius! Do you know he is a genius 
like Fourier, but bolder than Fourier; stronger. I'll look after 
him. He’s discovered ‘ equality *!” 

‘He is in a fever; he is raving; something very queer has 
happened to him,” thought Stavrogin, looking at him once more. 
Both walked on without stopping. 

* He’s written a good thing in that manuscript,’’ Verhovensky 
went on. “ He suggests a system of spying. Every member of 
the society spies on the others, and it’s his duty to inform against 
them. Every one belongs to all and all to every one. All are 
slaves and equal in their slavery. In extreme cases he advocates 
slander and murder, but the great thing about it is equality. 
To begin with, the level of education, science, and talents is 
lowered. A high level of education and science is only possible 
for great intellects, and they are not wanted. The great intellects 
have always seized the power and been despots. Great intellects 
cannot help being despots and they’ve always done more harm 
than good. They will be banished or put to death. Cicero will 
have his tongue cut out, Copernicus will have his eyes put out, 
Shakespeare will be stoned—that’s Shigalovism. Slaves are 
bound to be equal. There has never been either freedom or 
equality without despotism, but in the herd there is bound to be 
equality, and that’s Shigalovism! Ha ha ha! Do you think 
it strange? I am for Shigalovism.” 

Stavrogin tried to quicken his pace, and to reach home as soon 
as possible. “If this fellow is drunk, where did he manage to 
get drunk ?”’ crossed his mind. “Can it be the brandy ? ”’ 

“Listen, Stavrogin. To level the mountains is a fine idea, 
not an absurd one. I am for Shigalov. Down with culture. 
We've had enough science! Without science we have material 
enough to go on for a thousand years, but one must have dis- 
cipline. The one thing wanting in the world is discipline. The 
thirst for culture is an aristocratic thirst. The moment you have 
family ties or love you get the desire for property. We will 
destroy that desire; we'll make use of drunkenness, slander, 
spying; we'll make use of incredible corruption; we'll stifle 
every genius in its infancy. We'll reduce all to a common 
denominator! Complete equality! ‘ We’ve learned a trade, and 
we are honest men ; we need nothing more,’ that was an answer 


93 


392 THE POSSESSED 


given by English working-men recently. Only the necessary is 
necessary, that’s the motto of the whole world henceforward. 
But it needs a shock. That’s for us, the directors, to look 
after. Slaves must have directors. Absolute submission, 
absolute loss of individuality, but once in thirty years Shigalov 
would let them have a shock and they would all suddenly begin 
eating one another up, to a certain point, simply as a precaution 
against boredom. Boredom is an aristocratic sensation. The 
Shigalovians will have no desires. Desire and suffering are 
our lot, but Shigalovism is for the slaves.” 

‘You exclude yourself ? * Stavrogin broke in again. 

“You, too. Do you know, I have thought of giving up the 
world to the Pope. Let him come forth, on foot, and barefoot, 
and show himself to the rabble, saying, ‘See what they have 
brought me to !’ and they will all rush after him, even the troops. 
The Pope at the head, with us round him, and below us—Shiga- 
lovism. All that’s needed is that the Internationale should 
come to an agreement with the Pope; so it will. And the 
old chap will agree at once. There’s nothing else he can do. 
Remember my words! Ha ha! Is it stupid? Tell me, is 
it stupid or not?” | 

“That’s enough !”’ Stavrogin muttered with vexation. 

“Enough! Listen. I’ve given up the Pope! Damn Shiga- 
lovism! Damn the Pope! We must have something more 
everyday. Not Shigalovism, for Shigalovism is a rare speci- 
men of the jeweller’s art. It’s an ideal; it’s in the future. 
Shigalov is an artist and a fool like every philanthropist. 
We need coarse work, and Shigalov despises coarse work. 
Listen. The Pope shall be for the west, and you shall be 
for us, you shall be for us!” 

‘“‘Let me alone, you drunken fellow!’ muttered Stavrogin, 
and he quickened his pace. 

“ Stavrogin, you are beautiful,’ cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
almost ecstatically. ‘Do you know that you are beautiful ! 
What’s the most precious thing about you is that you sometimes 
don’t know it. Oh, I’ve studied you! I often watch you 
on the sly! There’s a lot of simpleheartedness and naiveté 
about you still. Do you know that? There still is, there is! 
You must be suffering and suffering genuinely from that simple- 
heartedness. I love beauty. I am a nihilist, but Ilove beauty. 
Are nihilists incapable of loving beauty? It’s only idols 
they dislike, but I love an idol. You are my idol! You injure 


4? 


IVAN THE TSAREVITCH 393 


no one, and every one hates you. You treat every one as an 
equal, and yet every one is afraid of you—that’s good. Nobody 
would slap you on the shoulder. You are an awful aristocrat. 
An aristocrat is irresistible when he goes in for democracy! To 
sacrifice life, your own or another’s is nothing to you. You are 
just the man that’s needed. It’s just such a man as you that 
I need. I know no one but you. You are the leader, you are 
the sun and I am your worm.” 

He suddenly kissed his hand. A shiver ran down Stavrogin’s 
spine, and he pulled away his hand in dismay. They stood 
still. 

‘*Madman !”’ whispered Stavrogin. 

‘“* Perhaps Iam raving ; perbaps I am raving,’’ Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch assented, speaking rapidly. ‘“‘ But I’ve thought of the 
first step! Shigalov would never have thought of it. There 
are lots of Shigalovs, but only one man, one man in Russia 
has hit on the first step and knows how to take it. And I am 
that man! Why do you look at me? I need you, you; 
without you I am nothing. Without you I am a fly, a bottled 
idea; Columbus without America.” 

Stavrogin stood still and looked intently into his wild eyes. 

“Listen. First of all we’ll make an upheaval,’’ Verhovensky 
went on in desperate haste, continually clutching at Stavrogin’s 
left sleeve. ‘‘ I’ve already told you. We shall penetrate to the 
peasantry. Do you know that we are tremendously powerful 
already ? Our party does not consist only of those who commit 
murder and arson, fire off pistols in the traditional fashion, or 
bite colonels. They are only a hindrance. I don’t accept any- 
thing without discipline. I am a scoundrel, of course, and not a 
socialist. Ha ha! Listen. I’ve reckoned them all up: a 
teacher who laughs with children at their God and at their cradle 
is on our side. The lawyer who defends an educated murderer 
because he is more cultured than his victims and could not 
help murdering them to get money is one of us. The schoolboys 
who murder a peasant for the sake of sensation are ours. The 
juries who acquit every criminal are ours. The prosecutor who 
trembles at a trial for fear he should not seem advanced enough 
is ours, ours. Among officials and literary men we have lots, 
lots, and they don’t know it themselves. On the other hand, 
the docility of schoolboys and fools has reached an extreme 
pitch ; the schoolmasters are bitter and bilious. On all sides we 
see vanity puffed up out of all proportion; brutal, monstrous 


394 THE POSSESSED 


appetities. . . . Do you know how many we shall catch by little, 
ready-made ideas? When I left Russia, Littre’s dictum that 
crime is insanity was all the rage; I come back and I find that 
crime is no longer insanity, but simply common sense, almost a 
duty ; anyway, a gallant protest. ‘How can we expect a cul- 
tured man not to commit a murder, if he is in need of money.’ 
But these are only the firstfruits. The Russian God has already 
been vanquished by cheap vodka. The peasants are drunk, 
the mothers are drunk, the children are drunk, the churches are 
empty, and in the peasant courts one hears, ‘Two hundred lashes 
or stand us a bucket of vodka.’ Oh, this generation has only to 
grow up. It’s only a pity we can’t afford to wait, or we might 
have let them get a bit more tipsy! Ah, what a pity there’s no 
proletariat! But there will be, there will be; we are going 
that way... .” 

“It’s a pity, too, that we’ve grown greater fools, 
Stavrogin, moving forward as before. 

‘“‘ Listen. [ve seen a child of six years old leading home his 
drunken mother, whilst she swore at him with foul words. Do 
you suppose I am glad of that ? When it’s in our hands, maybe 
we'll mend things . . . if need be, we'll drive them for. forty 
years into the wilderness. . . . But one or two generations of 
vice are essential now ; monstrous, abject vice by which a man 
is transformed into a loathsome, cruel, egoistic reptile. That’s 
what we need! And what’s more, a little ‘fresh blood’ that 
we may get accustomed to it. Why are you laughing? I am 
not contradicting myself. I am only contradicting the philan- 
thropists and Shigalovism, not myself! Iam a scoundrel, not 
a socialist. Ha ha ha! Pm only sorry there’s no time. I 
promised Karmazinov to begin in May, and to make an end 
by October. Is that too soon? Haha! Do you know what, 
Stavrogin? Though the Russian people use foul language, 
there’s nothing cynical about them so far. Do you know the 
serfs had more self-respect than Karmazinov? Though they 
were beaten they always preserved their gods, which is more than 
Karmazinov’s done.” 

‘* Well, Verhovensky, this is the first time [ve heard you talk, 
and I listen with amazement,’ observed Stavrogin. “So you 
are really not a socialist, then, but some sort of . . . ambitious 
politician ? ”’ 

‘‘ A scoundrel, a scoundrel! You are wondering what I am. 
Tl tell you what I am directly, that’s what I am leading up to. 


39 


muttered 


IVAN THE TSAREVITCH 395 


It was not for nothing that I kissed your hand. But the people 
must believe that we know what we are after, while the other side 
do nothing but ‘brandish their cudgels and beat their own 
followers,’ Ah, if we only had more time! That’s the only 
trouble, we have no time. We will proclaim destruction. . 
Why isit, why is it that idea has such a fascination. But we must 
have a little exercise; we must. Wei’llsetfiresgoing. ... We'll 
set legends going. Every scurvy ‘ group’ will be of use. Out of 
those very groups Ill pick you out fellows so keen they'll not 
shrink from shooting, and be grateful for the honour of a job, too. 
Well, and there will be an upheaval! There’s going to be such 
an upset as the world has never seen before. . . . Russia will be 
overwhelmed with darkness, the earth will weep for its old gods. 
. . . Well, then we shall bring forward .. . whom ?”’ 

“ Whom.” 

‘Ivan the Tsarevitch.” 

‘* Who-m ?”’ 

‘Tyan the Tsarevitch. You! You!” 

Stavrogin thought a minute. 

‘““A pretender?” he asked suddenly, looking with intense 
surprise at his frantic companion. ‘“‘ Ah! so that’s your plan 


- gt last!” 


‘“‘ We shall say that he is ‘ in hiding,’ ’’ Verhovensky said softly, 
in a sort of tender whisper, as though he really were drunk 
indeed. ‘‘Do you know the magic of that phrase, ‘he is in 
hiding’? But he will appear, he will appear. We'll set a 
legend going better than the Skoptsis’. He exists, but no one 
has seen him. Oh, what a legend one can set going! And the 
great thing is it will be a new force at work! And we need 
that ; that’s what they are crying for. What can Socialism do: 
it’s destroyed the old forces but hasn’t brought in any new. 
But in this we have a force, and what a force! Incredible. 
We only need one lever to lift up the earth. Everything will 
rise up!” 

‘Then have you been seriously reckoning on me ?”’ Stavrogin 
said with a malicious smile. 

“Why do you laugh, and so spitefully ? Don’t frighten me. 
T am like a little child now. I can be frightened to death by one 
smile like that. Listen. Il let no one see you, no one. So it 
must be. He exists, but no one has seen him ;_ he is in hiding. 
And do you know, one might show you, to one out of a hundred 
thousand, for instance. And the rumour will spread over all 


396 THE POSSESSED 


the land, ‘ We’ve seen him, we’ve seen him.’”’ Ivan Filipovitch 
the God of Sabaoth,* has been seen, too, when he ascended 
into heaven in his chariot in the sight of men. They saw him 
with their own eyes. And you are not an Ivan Filipovitch. 
You are beautiful and proud as a God ; you are seeking nothing 
for yourself, with the halo of a victim round you, ‘in hiding.’ 
The great thing is the legend. You'll conquer them, you'll 
have only to look, and you will conquer them. He is ‘in hiding,’ 
and will come forth bringing a new truth. And, meanwhile, 
we'll pass two or three judgments as wise as Solomon’s. The 
groups, you know, the quintets—we’ve no need of newspapers. 
If out of ten thousand petitions only one is granted, all would 
come with petitions. In every parish, every peasant will know 
that there is somewhere a hollow tree where petitions are to be 
put. And the whole land will resound with the cry, ‘A new 
just law is to come,’ and the sea will be troubled and the whole 
gimcrack show will fall to the ground, and then we shall consider 
how to build up an edifice of stone. For the first time! We 
are going to build it, we, and only we!” 

‘‘ Madness,”’ said Stavrogin. 

‘Why, why don’t you want it? Are you afraid? That’s 
why I caught at you, because you are afraid of nothing. Is it 
unreasonabe ? But you see, so far I am Columbus without 
America. Would Columbus without America seem _ reason- 
able ?”’ 

Stravrogin did not speak. Meanwhile they had reached the 
house and stopped at the entrance. 

‘‘ Listen,’? Verhovensky bent down to his ear. “I'll do it 
for you without the money. I'll settle Marya Timofyevna 
to-morrow! . . . Without the money, and to-morrow I’ll bring 
you Liza. Will you have Liza to-morrow ?”’ 

‘Is he really mad ?”’ Stavrogin wondered smiling. The front 
door was opened. 

‘“Stavrogin—is America ours?’ said Verhovensky, seizing 
his hand for the last time. 2 

‘““What for?” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, gravely and 
sternly. | 

“You don’t care, I knew that!” cried Verhovensky in an 
access of furious anger. “* You are lying, you miserable, profligate, 
perverted, little aristocrat! I don’t believe you, you’ve the . 


* The reference is to the legend current in the sect of Flagellants.—Trans- 
lator’s note. 


IVAN THE TSAREVITCH 397 


appetite of a wolf! . . . Understand that you’ve cost me such 
a price, I can’t give you up now! There’s no one on earth but 
you! LTinvented you abroad ; I invented it all, looking at you. 
If I hadn’t watched you from my corner, nothing of all this would 
have entered my head! ”’ 

Stavrogin went up the steps without answering. 

** Stavrogin !’’ Verhovensky called after him, “I give you a 
day ... two, then .. . three, then; more than three I can’t— 
and then you're to answer!” 


CHAPTER IX 
A RAID AT STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S 


MEANWHILE an incident had occurred which astounded me and 
shattered Stepan Trofimovitch. At eight o’clock in the morning 
Nastasya ran round to me from him with the news that her 
master was “raided.” At first I could not make out what she 
meant; I could only gather that the “raid ’’ was carried out 
by officials, that they had come and taken his papers, and that 
a soldier had tied them up in a bundle and “‘ wheeled them away 
in a barrow.” It was a fantastic story. I hurried at once to 
Stepan Trofimovitch. 

I found him in a surprising condition: upset and in great 
agitation, but at the same time unmistakably triumphant. On 
the table in the middle of the room the samovar was boiling, 
and there was a glass of tea poured out but untouched and 
forgotten. Stepan Trofimovitch was wandering round the table 
and peeping into every corner of the room, unconscious of what 
he was doing. He was wearing his usual red knitted jacket, but 
seeing me, he hurriedly put on his coat and waistcoat—a thing 
he had never done before when any of his intimate friends found 
him in his jacket. He took me warmly by the hand at once. 

“Enfin un ami!” (He heaved a deep sigh.) ‘Cher, I’ve 
sent to you only, and no one knows anything. We must give 
Nastasya orders to lock the doors and not admit anyone, except, 
of course them. ... Vous comprenez?”’ 

He looked at me uneasily, as though expecting a reply. I 
made haste, of course, to question him, and from his disconnected 
and broken sentences, full of unnecessary parentheses, I succeeded 
in learning that at seven o’clock that morning an official of the 
province had ‘all of a sudden’ called on him. 

‘““ Pardon, fat oublié son nom. Il west pas du pays, but I 
think he came to the town with Lembke, quelque chose de béte 
et d’Allemand dans la physionomie. Il s’appelle Rosenthal.” 

‘“'Wasn’t it Blum ? ” 

* Yes, that was hisname. Vows le connaissez? Quelque chose 
d’hébété et de trés content dans la figure, pourtant trés sevére, roide 
et sérieux. A type of the police, of the submissive subordinates, 


je my connais. I was still asleep, and, would you believe it, he 
398 


A RAID AT STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S 399 


asked to have a look at my books and manuscripts! Oui, je 
m’en souviens, tl a employé ce mot. He did not arrest me, but 
only the books. II se tenatt & distance, and when he began to 
explain his visit he looked as though I. . . enfin tl avait lair 
de crotire que je tomberai sur lua immédiatement et que je commen- 
cerai a le batire comme pldire. Tous ces gens du bas étage sont comme 
ca when they have to do with a gentleman. I need hardly say 
I understood it all at once. Votla vingt ans que je m’y prépare. 
I opened all the drawers and handed him all the keys; I gave 
them myself, I gave him all. J’étais digne et calme. From the 
books he took the foreign edition of Herzen, the bound volume 
of The Bell, four copies of my poem, et enfin tout ca. Then he 
took my letters and my papers et quelques-unes de mes ébauches 
historiques, critiques et politiques. All that they carried off. 
- Nastasya says that a soldier wheeled them away in:a barrow 
and covered them with an apron; owt, c’est cela, with an apron.” 

It sounded like delirium. Who could make head or tail of 
it? I pelted him with questions again. Had Blum come alone, 
or with others ? On whose authority ? By what right? How 
had he dared ? How did he explain it ? 

“Tl était seul, bien seul, but there was some one else dans 
Vantichambre, out, je men souviens, et puis... Though I 
believe there was some one else besides, and there was a guard 
standing in the entry. You must ask Nastasya ; she knows all 
about it better than I do. J’états surexcité, voyez-vous. Il 
parlait, tl parlait ... umn tas de choses; he said very little 
though, it was I said allthat. . . . I told him the story of my life, 
simply from that point of view, of'course. J’étais surexcité, mats 
digne, je vous assure. . . . I am afraid, though, I may have shed 
tears. They got the barrow from the shop next door.” 

‘“Oh, heavens! how could all this have happened? But 
for mercy’s sake, speak more exactly, Stepan Trofimovitch. 
What you tell me sounds like a dream.” 

“ Oher, I feel as though I were in a dream myself. . . . Savez-vous / 
Ila prononcé le nom de Telyatnikof, and I believe that that man 
was concealed in the entry. Yes, I remember, he suggested 
calling the prosecutor and Dmitri Dmitritch, I believe... 
qui me doit encore quinze roubles I won at cards, sott dit en 
passant. Enfin, je n’at pas trop compris. But I got the better 
of them, and what do I care for Dmitri Dmitritch ? I believe 
I begged him very earnestly to keep it quiet; I begged him 
particularly, most particularly. Iam afraid | demeaned myself, 


400 | THE POSSESSED 


in fact, comment croyez-vous ? Enfin ila consents. Yes, [remember, 
he suggested that himself—that it would be better to keep it 
quiet, for he had only come ‘to have a look round’ et rien de 
plus, and nothing more, nothing more... and that if they 
find nothing, nothing will happen. So that we ended it all en 
amis, je suis tout a fart content.” 

‘Why, then he suggested the usual course of proceedings in 
such cases and regular guarantees, and you rejected them your- 
self,’’ I cried with friendly indignation. 

* Yes, it’s better without the guarantees. And why makea 
scandal? Let’s keep it en amis so long as we can. You know, 
in our town, if they get to know it . . . mes ennemis, et puis, a 
quot bon, le procureur, ce cochon de notre procureur, qui deux fois 
ma manqué de politesse et qu’on a rossé a plaisir lautre année chez 
cette charmante et belle Natalya Pavlovna quand il se cacha dans son 
boudoir. Et puts, mon ami, don’t make objections and don’t 
depress me, I beg you, for nothing is more unbearable when a 
man is in trouble than for a hundred friends to point out to him 
what a fool he has made of himself. Sit down though and have 
some tea. I must admit I am awfully tired.... Hadn’t I 
better lie down and put vinegar on my head? What do you 
think ?” | 

‘ Certainly,” I cried, ‘‘ice even. You are very much upset. 
You are pale and your hands are trembling. Lie down, rest, and 
put off telling me. I'll sit by you and wait.” 

He hesitated, but I insisted on his lying down. Nastasya 
brought a cup of vinegar. I wetted a towel and laid it on his 
head. Then Nastasya stood on a chair and began lighting a 
lamp before the ikon in the corner. I noticed this with surprise ; 
there had never been a lamp there before and now suddenly it 
had made its appearance. 

‘“‘T arranged for that as soon as they had gone away,” 
muttered Stepan Trofimovitch, looking at me slyly. ‘‘ Quand 
on a de ces choses-la dans sa chambre et quwon vient vous arréter 
it makes an impression and they are sure to report that they have 
seenit....” 3 

When she had done the lamp, Nastasya stood in the doorway, 
leaned her cheek in her right hand, and began gazing at him 
with a lachrymose air. 

‘¢ Hloignez-la on some excuse,” he nodded to me from the 
sofa. ‘‘I can’t endure this Russian sympathy, et puis ¢a 
m embéte.”” 


A RAID AT STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S 401 


But she went away of herself.. I noticed that he kept looking 
towards the door and listening for sounds in the passage. 
“Il faut étre prét, voyez-vous,”’ he said, looking at me signifi- 
cantly, ‘chaque moment . . . they may come and take one and, 
phew !—a man disappears.” 

“Heavens! who'll come? Who will take you ?.”’ 

““ Voyez-vous, mon cher, I asked straight out when he was 
going away, what would they do to me now.” 

“You'd better have asked them where you’d be exiled!” 
i cried out in the same indignation. | 

“That’s just what I meant when | asked, but he went away 
without answering. Voyez-vous: as for linen, clothes, warm 
things especially, that must be as they decide; if they tell me 
to take them—all right, or they might send me in a soldier’s 
overcoat. But I thrust thirty-five roubles” (he suddenly 
dropped his voice, looking towards the door by which Nastasya 
had gone out) “‘in a slit in my waistcoat pocket, here, feel... . 
I believe they won’t take the waistcoat off, and left seven roubles 
in my purse to keep up appearances, as though that were all I 
have. You see, it’s in small change and the coppers are on the 
table, so they won’t guess that I’ve hidden the money, but will 
_ suppose that that’s all. For God knows where I may have to 
sleep to-night !”’, . 

1 bowed my head before such madness. It was obvious that 
a man could not be arrested and searched in the way he was 
describing, and he must have mixed things up. It’s true it all 
happened in the days before our present, more recent regulations. 
It is true, too, that according to his own account they had 


offered to follow the more regular procedure, but he “ got the 
better of them” and refused. . .. Of course not long ago a 
governor might, in extreme cases... . But how could this be 


an extreme case? That’s what baffled me. 

‘No doubt they had a telegram from Petersburg,” Stepan 
Trofimovitch said suddenly. 

“A telegram? About you? Because of the works of Herzen 
and your poem? Have you taken leave of your senses? What 
is there in that to arrest you for ?” 

I was positively angry. He made a grimace and was evidently 
mortified—not at my exclamation, but at the idea that there 
was no ground for arrest. 

‘“‘ Who can tell in our day what he may not be arrested for ? ” 


he muttered enigmatically. 
2c 


402 c “THE POSSESSED. — 


A wild and nonsensical idea crossed my mind. | 

“ Stepan Trofimovitch, tell me as a friend,’”’ I cried, “ as a real 
friend, Iwill not betray you: do you belong to some secret 
society or not?” 

And on this, to my amazement, he was not quite certain 
whether he was or was not a mem ber of some secret society. 

“ That depends, voyez- vous.’ 

‘“‘ How do you mean ‘ it depends 

‘** When with one’s whole heart one is an adherent bf progress 
and ... who can answer it? You may suppose you don’t 
belong, and suddenly it turns out that you do belong to some- 
thing.” 

“Now is that possible ? It’s a case of yes or no.” 

“Cela date de Pétersburg when she and I were meaning to 
found a magazine’there. That’s what’s at the root of it. She 
gave them the slip then, and they forgot us, but now they’ve 
remembered. Cher, cher, don’t you know me?” he cried 
hysterically. ‘‘ And they'll take us, put us in a cart, and march 
us off to Siberia for ever, or forget us in prison.” : 

And he suddenly broke into bitter weeping. His tears posi- 
tively streamed. He covered his face with his red silk handker- 
chief and sobbed, sobbed convulsively for five minutes. It 
wrung my heart. This was the man who had been a prophet 
among us for twenty years, a leader, a patriarch, the Kukolnik 
who had borne himself so loftily and majestically before all of 
us, before whom we bowed down with genuine reverence, feeling 
proud of doing so—and all of a sudden here he was sobbing, 
sobbing like a naughty child waiting for the rod which the 
teacher is fetching for him. I felt fearfully sorry for him. He 
believed in the reality of that ‘“‘ cart’ as he believed that I was 
sitting by his side, and. he expected it that morning, at once, 
that very minute, and all this on account of his Herzen and some 
poem! Such complete, absolute ignorance of everyday reality 
was touching and somehow repulsive. 

At last he left off crying, got up from the sofa and began 
walking about the room again, continuing to talk tome, though 
he looked out of the window every minute and listened to every 
sound in the passage. Our conversation was still disconnected. 
All my assurances and attempts to console him rebounded from 
him like peas from a wall. He scarcely listened, but yet what 
he needed was that I should console him and keep on talking 
with that object. I saw that he could not do without me now, 


kas Rhea 


A RAID AT STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S 403 


and would not let me go for anything. I remained, and we 
spent more than two hours together. In conversation he recalled 
that Blum had taken with him two manifestoes he had found: 

““ Manifestoes!”’ I said, foolishly frightened. ‘‘Do you mean 
to say you...” 

** Oh, ten were left here,”’ he answered with vexation (he talked 
to me at one moment in a vexed and haughty tone and at the 
next with dreadful plaintiveness and humiliation), ‘‘ but I had 
disposed of eight already, and Blum only found two.” 

And he suddenly flushed with indignation. 

‘““ Vous me metiez avec ces gens-la! Do you suppose I could 
be working with those scoundrels, those anonymous libellers, 
with my son Pyotr Stepanovitch, avec ces esprits forts de la lacheté ? 
Oh, heavens !.”’ 

“Bah! haven’t they mixed you up perhaps? ... But it’s 
nonsense, it can’t be so,’’ I observed. 

** Savez-vous,” broke from him suddenly, ‘‘I feel at moments 
que je ferar la-bas quelque esclandre. Ob, don’t go away, don’t 
leave me alone! Ma carriére est finie aujourdhus, je le sens. 
Do you know, I might fall on somebody there and bite him, like 
that lieutenant.” 

He looked at me with a strange expression—alarmed, and at 
the same time anxious to alarm me. He certainly was getting 
more and more exasperated with somebody and about some- 
thing as time went on and the police-cart did not appear; he 
was positively wrathful. Suddenly Nastasya, who had come 
from the kitchen into the passage for some reason, upset a 
clothes-horse there. Stepan Trofimovitch trembled and turned 
numb with terror as he sat; but when the noise was explained, 
he almost shrieked at Nastasya and, stamping, drove her back 
to the kitchen. A minute later he said, looking at me in despair : 

“JT am ruined! Cher”’—he sat down suddenly beside me 
and. looked piteously into my face—*‘ cher, it’s not Siberia [ am 
afraid of, Iswear. Oh, je vous jure!” (Tears positively stood in 
his eyes.) “ It’s something else I fear.” 

I saw from his expression that he wanted at last to tell me 
something of great importance which he had till now refrained 
from telling. 

‘““T am afraid of disgrace,” he whispered mysteriously. 

““What disgrace? On the contrary! Believe me, Stepan 
Trofimovitch, that all this will be explained to-day and wilh end 


to your advantage. x 


404 THE POSSESSED 


‘“ Are you so sure that they will pardon me ? ” 

“Pardon you? What! What a word! What have you 
done? I assure you you’ve done nothing.” 

“Qw’en savez-vous; all my life has been... cher... 
They'll remember everything . . . and if they find nothing, it 
will be worse still,” he added all of a sudden, unexpectedly. 

‘*‘ How do you mean it will be worse ? ”’ 

“It will be worse.” 

‘“*T don’t understand.” 

‘My friend, let it be Siberia, Archangel, loss of rights—if I 
must perish, let me perish! But... 1am afraid of something 
else.”’ (Again whispering, a scared face, mystery.) 

‘“ But of what ? Of what?” 

“ They’ll flog me,” he pronounced, looking at me with a face 
of despair. 

‘Who'll flog you ? What for? Where?” I cried, feeling 
alarmed that he was going out of his mind. 

‘“Where ? Why there . . . where ‘ that’s’ done.” 

‘** But where is it done ? ”’ 

‘Eh, cher,’ he whispered almost in my ear. “The floor 
suddenly gives way under you, you drop half through... . 
Every one knows that.” 

‘Legends !’’ I cried, guessing what he meant. ‘‘ Old tales. 
Can you have believed them till now ?”’ I laughed. 

“Tales! But there must be foundation for them; flogged 
men tell no tales. [ve imagined it ten thousand times.” 

‘‘ But you, why you? You’ve done nothing, you know.” 

“That makes it worse. They’ll find out I’ve done nothing 
and flog me for it.”’ 

‘* And you are sure that you’ll be taken to Petersburg for that.” 

‘‘ My friend, I’ve told you already that I regret nothing, ma 
carriére est finie. From that hour when she said good-bye to 
me at Skvoreshniki my life has had no value for me... but 
disgrace, disgrace, que dira-t-elle if she finds out ? ”’ 

He looked at me in despair. And the poor fellow flushed all 
over. I dropped my eyes too. 

“She'll find out nothing, for nothing will happen to you. 
I feel as if I were speaking to you for the first time in my life, 
Stepan Trofimovitch, you’ve astonished me so this morning.” 

‘“ But, my friend, this isn’t fear. For even if I am pardoned, 
even if I am brought here and nothing is done to me—then I . 
am undone. Elle me soupconnera toute sa vie—me, me, the 


A RAID AT STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S 405 


poet, the thinker, the man whom she has worshipped for twenty- 
two years ! ”’ 

‘“* It will never enter her head.” : 

“It will,” he whispered with profound conviction. ‘‘ We’ve 
talked of it several times in Petersburg, in Lent, before we came 
away, when we were both afraid. ... Elle me soupconnera 
toute sa vie . . . and how can I disabuse her? It won’t sound 
likely. And in this wretched town who'd believe it, c’est 
invratsemblable. . . . Ht puts les femmes, she will be pleased. 
She will be genuinely grieved like a true friend, but secretly she 
will be pleased. . . . I shall give her a weapon against me for 
the rest of my life. Oh, it’s all over with me! Twenty years 
of such perfect happiness with her . . . and now!” 

He hid his face in his hands. 

“Stepan Trofimovitch, oughtn’t you to let Varvara Petrovna 
know at once of what has happened ?”’ I suggested. 

‘“God preserve me!’ he cried, shuddering and leaping up 
from. his place. ‘‘On no account, never, after what was said 
at parting at Skvoreshniki—never ! ” 

His eyes flashed. 

We went on sitting together another hour or more, I believe, 
expecting something all the time—the idea had taken such hold 
of us. He lay down again, even closed his eyes, and lay for 
twenty minutes without uttering a word, so that I thought he 
was asleep or unconscious. Suddenly he got up impulsively, - 
pulled the towel off his head, jumped up from the sofa, rushed 
to the looking-glass, with trembling hands tied his cravat, and 
in a voice of thunder called to Nastasya, telling her to give him 
his overcoat, his new hat and his stick. 

‘** TI can bear no more,” he said in a breaking voice. ‘1 can’t, 
Ican’t! Iam going myself.” 

‘Where ?”’ I cried, jumping up too. 

“To Lembke. Cher, I ought, I am obliged. It’s my duty. 
I am a citizen and a man, not a worthless chip. I have rights ; 
I want my rights. . . . For twenty years I’ve not insisted on 
my rights. All my life I’ve neglected them criminally . . . but 
now I'll demand them. He must tell me everything—every- 
- thing. He received a telegram. He dare not torture me; if 
so, let him arrest me, let him arrest me!” 

He stamped and vociferated almost with shrieks. 

‘“‘T approve of what you say,” I said, speaking as calmly as 
possible, on purpose, though I was very much afraid for him. 


406 | ‘THE POSSESSED | 


“Certainly it is better than sitting here in such misery, but I 
can’t approve of your state of mind. Just see what you look 
like and in what a state you are going there! JI faut étredigne et 
calme avec Lembke. You really might rush at some one there 
and bite him.” 

“Tam giving myself sag I am walking straight into the jaws 
of the hon:”. .-.”)' 

“TI go with you.” 

‘*T expected no less of you, I accept your sacrifice, the sacrifice 
of a true friend; but only as far as the house, only as far as the 
house. You ought not, you have no right to compromise your- 
self further by being my confederate. Oh, croyez-mot, je serat 
calme. I feel that I am at this moment @ la hauteur de tout ce 
qwil y a de plus sacré.” 

‘“T may perhaps go into the house: with you,” I interrupted 
him. “I had a message from their stupid committee yesterday 
through Vysotsky that they reckon on me and invite me to the 
féte to-morrow as one of the stewards or whatever it is . . . one 
of the six young men whose duty it is to look after the trays, wait 
on the ladies, take the guests to their places, and wear a rosette 
of crimson and white ribbon on the left shoulder. I meant to 
refuse, but now why shouldn’t I go into the house on the excuse 
of seeing Yulia Mihailovna herself about it ?)... So we will 
go in together.” 

He listened, nodding, but I think he understood nothing. We 
stood on the threshold. 

‘‘ Cher ’—he stretched out his arm to the lamp before the 
ikon—‘‘ cher, I have never believed in this, but .. . so be it, 
so be it!’’ He crossed himself.‘* Allons /”’ 

“Well, that’s better so,” I thought as I went out on to the 
steps with him. “The fresh air will do him good on the way, 
and we shall calm down, turn back, and go home to bed... .” 

But I reckoned without my host. On the way an adventure 
occurred which agitated Stepan Trofimovitch even more, and 
finally determined him to go on... so that I should never 
have expected of our friend so much spirit as he suddenly dis- 
played that morning. Poor friend, kind-hearted friend ! | 


CHAPTER X 
FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 


THE adventure that befell us on the way was also a: surprising 
one. But I must tell the story in due order. An hour before 
Stepan Trofimovitch and I came out into the street, a crowd of 
people, the hands from Shpigulins’ factory, seventy or more in 
number, had been marching through the town, and had. been 
an object of curiosity to many spectators. They walked inten- 
tionally in good order and almost in silence. Afterwards it was 
asserted that these seventy had been elected out of the whole, 
number of factory hands, amounting to about nine hundred, 
to go to the governor and to try and get from him, in the absence 
of their employer, a just settlement of their grievances against 
the manager, who, in closing the factory and dismissing the 
workmen, had cheated them all-in an impudent way—a fact 
which has since been proved conclusively. Some people still 
deny that there was any election of delegates, maintaining that 
seventy was too large a number to elect, and that the crowd 
simply consisted of those who had been most unfairly treated, 
and that they only came to ask for help in their own case, so 
that the general “mutiny ”’ of the factory workers, about which 
there was such an uproar later on, had never existed at all. 
Others fiercely maintained that these seventy men were: not 
simple strikers but revolutionists, that is, not merely that they 
were the most turbulent, but that they must have been worked 
upon by seditious manifestoes. The fact is, it is still uncertain 
whether there had been any outside influence or incitement at 
work or not. My private opinion is that the workmen had not 
read the seditious manifestoes at all, and if they had read them, 
would not have understood one word, for one reason because the 
authors of such literature write very obscurely in spite of the 
boldness of their style. But as the workmen really were in a 
difficult plight and the police to whom they appealed would not 
enter into their grievances, what could be more natural than 
their idea of going in a body to “‘ the general himself ”’ if possible, 
with the petition at their head, forming up in an orderly way 


before his door, and as soon as he showed himself; all falling on 
407 


408 THE POSSESSED 


their knees and crying out to him as to providence itself? To 
my mind there is no need to see in this a mutiny or even a depu- 
tation, for it’s a traditional, historical mode of action; the 
Russian people have always loved to parley with ‘ the general 
himself ’’ for the mere satisfaction of doing so, regardless of how 
the conversation may end. 

And so I am quite convinced that, even though Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch, Liputin, and perhaps some others—perhaps even Fedka 
too—had been flitting about among the workpeople talking to 
them (and there is fairly good evidence of this), they had only 
approached two, three, five at the most, trying to sound them, 
and nothing had come of their conversation. As for the mutiny 
they advocated, if the factory-workers did understand anything 
of their propaganda, they would have left off listening to it at 
once as to something stupid that had nothing to do with them. 
Fedka was a different matter: he had more success, I believe, 
than Pyotr Stepanovitch. Two workmen are now known for a 
fact to have assisted Fedka in causing the fire in the town which 
occurred three days afterwards, and a month later three men 
who had worked in the factory were arrested for robbery and 
arson in the province. But if in these cases Fedka did lure them 
to direct and immediate action, he could only have succeeded 
with these five, for we heard of nothing of the sort being done 
by others. 

Be that as it may, the whole crowd of workpeople had at last 
reached the open space in front of the governor’s house and were 
drawn up there in silence and good order. Then, gaping open- 
mouthed at the front door, they waited. Iam told that as soon 
as they halted they took off their caps, that is, a good half-hour 
before the appearance of the governor, who, as ill-luck would 
have it, was not at home at the moment. The police made 
their appearance at once, at first individual policemen and then 
as large a contingent of them as could be gathered together ; 
they began, of course, by being menacing, ordering them to 
break up. But the workmen remained obstinately, like a flock 
of sheep at a fence, and replied laconically that they had come 
to see ‘‘the general himself’; it was evident that they were 
firmly determined. The unnatural shouting of the police ceased, 
and was quickly succeeded by deliberations, mysterious whispered 
instructions, and stern, fussy perplexity, which wrinkled the brows 
of the police officers. The head of the police preferred to await 
the arrival of the “ governor himself.’’ It was not true that he 


FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 409 


galloped to the spot with three horses at full speed, and began 
hitting out right and left before he alighted from his carriage. 
It’s true that he used to dash about and was fond of dashing 
about at full speed in a carriage with a yellow back, and while 
his trace-horses, who were so trained to carry their heads that 
they looked “ positively perverted,” galloped more and more 
frantically, rousing the enthusiasm of all the shopkeepers in 
the bazaar, he would rise up in the carriage, stand erect, holding 
on by a strap which had been fixed on purpose at the side, and 
with his right arm extended into space like a figure on a monu- 
ment, survey the town majestically. But in the present case 
he did not use his fists, and though as he got out of the carriage he 
could not refrain from a forcible expression, this was simply done 
to keep up his popularity. ‘There is a still more absurd story that 
soldiers were brought up with bayonets, and that a telegram 
was sent for artillery and Cossacks; those are legends which are 
not believed now even by those who invented them. It’s an 
absurd story, too, that barrels of water were brought from the 
fire brigade, and that people were drenched with water from 
them. The simple fact is that Ilya Ilyitch shouted in his heat 
that he wouldn’t let one of them come dry out of the water ; 
probably this was the foundation of the barrel legend which got 
into the columns of the Petersburg and Moscow newspapers. 
Probably the most accurate version was that at first all the 
available police formed a cordon round the crowd, and a mes- 
senger was sent for Lembke, a police superintendent, who dashed 
off in the carriage belonging to the head of the police on the way 
to Skvoreshniki, knowing that Lembke had gone there in his 
carriage half an hour before. 

But I must confess that I am still unable to answer the question 
how they could at first sight, from the first moment, have trans- 
formed an insignificant, that is to say an ordinary, crowd of 
petitioners, even though there were several of them, into a 
rebellion which threatened to shake the foundations of the 
state. Why did Lembke himself rush at that idea when he 
arrived twenty minutes after the messenger? I imagine (but 
again it’s only my private opinion) that it was to the interest 
of Ilya Ilyitch, who was a crony of the factory manager’s, 
to represent the crowd in this light to Lembke, in order to 
prevent him from going into the case ; and Lembke himself had 
put the idea into his head. Im the course of the last two days 
he bad had two unusual and mysterious conversations with 


410 14) "THE POSSESSED 


him. It is true they were exceedingly obscure, but [ya Llyitch 
was able to gather from them that the governor had thoroughly 
made up his mind. that there were political manifestoes, and that 
Shpigulins’ factory hands were being incited to a Socialist rising, 
and that he was so persuaded of it that he would perhaps have 
regretted it if the story had turned out to be nonsense. “ He 
wants to get distinction in Petersburg,’ our wily Ilya Lyitch 
thought to himself as he left Von Lembke; “well, that just 
suits me.” 

But I am convinced that poor Andrey Antonovitch would 
not have desired a rebellion even for the sake of distinguishing 
himself. He was a most conscientious official, who had lived 
in a state of innocence up. to the time of his marriage. And 
was it his fault that, instead of an innocent allowance of wood 
from the government and an equally innocent Minnchen, a princess 
of forty summers had raised him to her level? I know almost 
for certain that the unmistakable symptoms of the mental 
condition which brought poor Andrey Antonovitch to a well- 
known establishment in Switzerland, where, 1 am told, he is now 
regaining his energies, were first apparent on that fatal morning. 
But once we admit that unmistakable signs of something were 
visible that morning, it may well be allowed that similar symptoms 
may have been evident, the day before, though not so clearly. 
I happen to know from the most private sources (well, you may 
assume that Yulia Mihailovna later on, not in triumph but 
almost in remorse— for a woman is incapable of complete remorse— 
revealed part of it to me herself) that Andrey Antonovitch had 
gone into his wife’s room in the middle of the previous night, 
past two o’clock in the morning, had waked. her up, and had 
insisted on her listening to his “‘ ultimatum.’ He demanded it 
so insistently that she was obliged to get up from her bed in 
indignation and curl-papers, and, sitting down on a couch, she 
had to listen, though with sarcastic disdain. Only then she 
grasped for the first time how far gone her Andrey Antonovitch 
was, and was secretly horrified. She ought to have thought 
what she was about and have been softened, but she concealed 
her horror and was more obstinate than ever. Like every wife 
she had her own method of treating Andrey Antonovitch, which 
she had tried more than once already and with it driven him to 
frenzy. Yulia Mihailovna’s method was that of contemptuous 
silence, for one hour, two, a whole day, and almost for three days 
and nights—silence whatever happened, whatever he said, — 


FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 41] 


whatever he did, even if he had clambered up to throw himself 
out of a three-story window—a method unendurable for a 
sensitive man! Whether Yulia Mihailovna meant to punish 
her husband for his blunders of the last few days and the jealous 
envy he, as the chief authority in the town, felt for her adminis- 
trative abilities; whether she was indignant at his criticism 
of her behaviour with the young people and local society gene- 
rally, and lack of comprehension of her subtle and far-sighted 
political aims ; or was angry with his stupid and senseless jealousy 
of Pyotr Stepanovitch—however that may have been, she made 
up her mind not to be softened even now, in spite of its 
being three o’clock at night, and though Andrey Antonovitch 
was in a state of emotion such as she had never seen him in 
before. 

Pacing up and down in all directions over the rugs of her 
boudoir, beside himself, he poured out everything, everything, 
quite disconnectedly, it’s true, but everything that had been 
rankling in his heart, for—‘‘it was outrageous.’ He began by 
saying that he was a laughing-stock to every one and “ was 
being led by the nose.” ‘“‘ Curse the expression,” he squealed, at 
once catching her smile, “ let it stand, it’s true. . . . No, madam, 
the time has come; let me tell you it’s not a time for laughter 
and feminine arts now. We are not in the boudoir of a mincing 
lady, but like two abstract creatures in a balloon who have met 
to speak the truth.” (He was no doubt confused and could not 
find the right words for his ideas, however just they were.) “‘ It 
is you, madam, you who have destroyed my happy past. Itook 
up this post simply for your sake, for the sake of your ambition. 
. . . You smile sarcastically ? Don’t triumph, don’t be in a 
hurry. Let me tell you, madam, let me tell you that I should 
have been equal to this position, and not only this position but 
a dozen positions like it, for I have abilities; but with you, 
madam, with you—it’s impossible, for with you here I have no 
abilities. There cannot be two centres, and you have created 
two—one of mine and one in your boudoir—two centres of power, 
madam, but I won’t allow it, I won’t allow it! . In the service, 
as in marriage, there must be one centre, two are impossible. 
. . . How have you repaid’me ?”’ he went on. ‘ Our marriage 
has been nothing but your proving to me all the time, every 
hour, that I am a nonentity, a fool, and even a rascal, and I 
have been all the time, every hour, forced in a degrading way to 
prove to you that I am not a nonentity, not a fool at all, and 


412 THE POSSESSED 


that I impress every one with my honourable sheraciar: Isn’t 
that degrading for both sides ?.” 

At this point he began rapidly stamping with both fasit on 
the carpet, so that Yulia Mihailovna was obliged to get up with 
stern dignity. He subsided quickly, but passed to being pathetic 
and began sobbing (yes, sobbing !), beating himself on the breast 
almost for five minutes, getting more and more frantic at Yulia 
Mihailovna’s profound silence. At last he made a fatal blunder, 
and let slip that he was jealous of Pyotr Stepanovitch. Realising 
that he had made an utter fool of himself, he became savagely 
furious, and shouted that he ‘‘ would not allow them to deny 
God” and that he would “‘ send her salon of irresponsible infidels 
packing,’’ that the governor of a province was bound to believe 
in God “and so his wife was too,” that he wouldn’t put up with 
these young men; that “‘ you, madam, for the sake of your 
own dignity, ought to have thought of your husband and to 
have stood up for his intelligence even if he were a man of poor 
abilities (and ’'m by no means:a man of poor abilities !), and yet 
it’s your doing that every one here despises me, it was you put 
them all up to it!’’ He shouted that he would annihilate the 
woman question, that he would eradicate every trace of it, that 
to-morrow he would forbid and break iat their silly féte for the 
benefit of the governesses (damn them !), that the first governess 
he came across to-morrow morning he would drive out of the 
province “‘ with a Cossack! T’ll make a point of it!” he shrieked. 
‘*Do you know,” he screamed, “‘ do you know that your rascals 
are inciting men at the factory, and that 1 know it? Let me 
tell you, I] know the names of four of these rascals and that I 
am going out of my mind, hopelessly, hopelessly!.. . .” 

But at this point Yulia Mihailovna suddenly broke her silence 
and sternly announced that she had long been aware of these 
criminal designs, and that it was all foolishness, and that he had 
taken it too seriously, and that as for these mischievous fellows, 
she knew not only those four but all of them (it was a lie); but 
that she had not the faintest intention of going out of her mind 
on account of it, but, on the contrary, had all the more confidence 
in her intelligence and hoped to bring it all to a harmonious 
conclusion: to encourage the young people, to bring them to 
reason, to show them suddenly and unexpectedly that their 
designs were known, and then to point out to them new aims for 
rational and more noble activity. 

Oh, how can I describe the effect of this on Andrey Antono- 


FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 413 


vitch! Hearing that Pyotr Stepanovitch had duped him again 
and had made a fool of him so coarsely, that he had told her much 
more than he had told him, and sooner than him, and that 
perhaps Pyotr Stepanovitch was the chief instigator of all these 
criminal designs—he flew into a frenzy. ‘‘Senseless but malig- 
nant woman,” he cried, snapping his bonds at one blow, ‘“‘ let 
me tell you, I shall arrest your worthless lover at once, I shall 
put him in fetters and send him to the fortress, or—I shall jump 
out of window before your eyes this minute ! ”’ 

Yulia Mihailovna, turning green with anger, greeted this tirade 
at once with a burst of prolonged, ringing laughter, going off 
into peals such as one hears at the French theatre when a Parisian 
actress, imported for a fee of a hundred thousand to play a 
coquette, laughs in her husband’s face for daring to be jealous 
of her. 

Von Lembke rushed to the window, but suddenly stopped as 
though rooted to the spot, folded his arms across his chest, and, 
white as a corpse; looked with a sinister gaze at the laughing 
lady. ‘‘ Do you know, Yulia, do you know,”’ he said in a gasping 
and suppliant voice, ‘‘do you know that even I can do some- 
thing ?”’ But at the renewed and even louder laughter that 
followed his last words he clenched his teeth, groaned, and 
suddenly rushed, not towards the window, but at his spouse, 
with his fist raised! He did not bring it down—no, I repeat 
again and again, no; but it was the last straw. He ran to his 
own room, not knowing what he was doing, flung himself, dressed 
as he was, face downwards on his bed, wrapped himself convul- 
sively, head and all, in the sheet, and lay so for two hours— 
incapable of sleep, incapable of thought, with a load on his heart 
and blank, immovable despair in his soul. Now and then he 
shivered all over with an agonising, feverish tremor. Dis- 
connected and irrelevant things kept coming into his mind: at 
one minute he thought of the old clock which used to hang on 
his wall fifteen years ago in Petersburg and had lost the 
minute-hand ; at another of the cheerful clerk, Millebois, and 
how they had once caught a sparrow together in Alexandrovsky 
Park and had laughed so that they could be heard all over the 
park, remembering that one of them was already a college 
assessor. I imagine that about seven in the morning he must 
have fallen asleep without being aware of it himself, and must 
have slept with enjoyment, with agreeable dreams. 

Waking about ten o’clock, he jumped wildly out of bed, 


414 THE POSSESSED © 


remembered everything at once, and slapped himself on the head ; 
he refused his breakfast, and would see neither Blum nor the 
chief of the police nor the clerk who came to remind him that he 
was expected to preside over a meeting that morning ; he would 
listen to nothing, and did not want to understand. He ran like 
one possessed to Yulia Mihailovna’s part of the house. There 
Sofya Antropovna, an old lady of good family who had lived for 
years with Yulia Mihailovna, explained to him that his wife had 
set off at ten o’clock that morning with a large company in three 
earriages to Varvara Petrovna Stavrogin’s, to Skvoreshniki, to 
look over the place with a view to the second féte which was 
planned for a fortnight later, and that the visit to-day had been 
arranged with Varvara Petrovna three days before. Over- 
whelmed with this news, Andrey Antonovitch returned to his 
study and impulsively ordered the horses. He could hardly 
wait for them to be got ready: His soul was hungering for 
Yulia Mihailovna—to look at her, to be near her for five minutes ; 
perhaps she would glance at him, notice him, would smile as 
before, forgive him ... O-oh! ‘‘ Aren’t the horses ready ?” 
Mechanically he opened a thick book lying on the table. (He 
sometimes used to try his fortune in this way with a book, 
opening it at random and reading the three lines at the top of 
the right-hand page.) What turned up was: “ Tout est pour le 
mieux dans le meilleur des mondes possibles.” —Voltaire, Candide. 
He uttered an ejaculation of contempt and ran to get into the 
carriage. ‘‘ Skvoreshniki ! ” 

The coachman said afterwards that his master urged him on 
all the way, but as soon as they were getting near the mansion 
he suddenly told him to turn and drive back to the town, bidding 
him ‘‘ Drive fast; please drive fast!’ Before they reached 
the town wall ‘‘ master told me to stop again, got out of the 
carriage, and went across the road into the field ; I thought he 
felt ill but he stopped and began looking at the flowers, and so 
he stood for a time. It was strange, really; I began to feel 
quite uneasy.” This was the coachman’s testimony. I remember 
the weather that morning: it was a cold, clear, but windy 
September day; before Andrey Antonovitch stretched a for- 
bidding landscape of bare fields from which the crop had long 
been harvested ; there were a few dying yellow flowers, pitiful 
relics blown about by the howling wind. Did he want:to compare 
himself and his fate with those wretched flowers battered by 
the autumn and the frost ?. I don’t think so; in fact I feel sure 


FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 415 


it was not so, and that he realised nothing about the flowers 
in spite of the evidence of the coachman and of the police super- 
intendent, who drove up at that moment and asserted afterwards 
that he found the governor with a bunch of yellow flowers in 
his hand. This police ‘superintendent, Flibusterov by name, 
was an ardent champion of authority who had only recently 
_ come to our town but had already distinguished himself and 
become famous by his inordinate zeal, by a certain’ vehemence 
in the execution of his duties, and his inveterate inebriety. 
Jumping out of the carriage, and not the least disconcerted at 
the sight of what the governor was doing, he blurted out all in 
one breath, with a frantic expression, yet with an air of convic- 
tion, that ‘‘ There’s an upset in the town.” . 

“Eh? What?” said Andrey Antonovitch, turning to him 
with a stern face, but without a trace of surprise or any recollec- 
tion of his carriage and ‘his coachman, as though he had been in 
his own study. 

** Police-superintendent Flibusterov, your Excellency. There’s 
a riot in the town.” OT 

‘‘ Filibusters ?”? Andrey Antonovitch said thoughtfully. 

‘* Just so, your Excellency. The Shpigulin men are making a 
riot.” 

“The Shpigulin men! .. .” 

The name “‘ Shpigulin ’? seemed to remind him of something. 
He started and put his finger to his forehead: ‘‘ The Shpigulin 
men!’ In silence, and still plunged in thought, he walked 
without haste to the carriage, took his seat, and told the coach- 
man to drive to the town. The police-superintendent followed 
in the droshky. 

I imagine that he had vague impressions of many interesting 
things of all sorts on the way, but I doubt whether he had any 
definite idea or any settled intention as he drove into the open 
space in front of his house. But no sooner did he see the resolute 
and orderly ranks of ‘the rioters,” the cordon of police, the 
helpless (and perhaps purposely helpless) chief of police, and 
the general expectation of which he was the object, than all 
the blood rushed to his heart. With a pale face he stepped out 
of his carriage. 

“Caps off!” he said breathlessly and hardly audibly. “ On 
your knees!’ he squealed, to the surprise of every one, to his 
own surprise too, and perhaps the very unexpectedness of the 
position was the explanation of what followed. Can a sledge 


416 | THE POSSESSED 


on a switchback at carnival stop short as it flies down the hill ? 
What made it worse, Andrey Antonovitch had been all his life 
serene in character, and never shouted or stamped at anyone ; 
and such people are always the most dangerous if it once happens 
that something sets their sledge sliding downhill. Everything 
was whirling before his eyes. 

‘* Filibusters !”’ he yelled still more shrilly and absurdly, and 
his voice broke. He stood, not knowing what he was going to 
do, but knowing and feeling in his whole being that he certainly 
would do something directly. 

“Lord!” was heard from the crowd. A lad began crossing 
himself ; three or four men actually did try to kneel down, but 
the whole mass moved three steps forward, and suddenly all 
began talking at once: ‘‘ Your Excellency . . . we were hired 
for a term... the manager... you mustn’t say,’ and so 
on and so on. It was impossible to distinguish anything. 

Alas! Andrey Antonovitch could distinguish nothing: the 
flowers were still in his hands. The riot was as real to him as 
the prison carts were to Stepan Trofimovitch. And flitting to 
and fro in the crowd of “‘ rioters’ who gazed open-eyed at him, 
he seemed to see Pyotr Stepanovitch, who had egged them on— 
Pyotr Stepanovitch, whom he hated and whose image had never 
left him since yesterday. 

“ Rods!’ he cried even more unexpectedly. A dead silence 
followed. 

From the facts I have learnt and those I have conjectured, 
this must have been what happened at the beginning; but I 
have no such exact information for what followed, nor can I 
conjecture it so easily. There are some facts, however. 

In the first place, rods were brought on the scene with strange 
rapidity ; they had evidently been got ready beforehand in 
expectation by the intelligent chief of the police. Not more 
than two, or at most three, were actually flogged, however ; 
that fact I wish to lay stress on. It’s an absolute fabrication to 
say that the whole crowd of rioters, or at least half of them, were 
punished. It is a nonsensical story, too, that a poor but respect- 
able lady was caught as she passed by and promptly thrashed ; 
yet I read myself an account of this incident afterwards among 
the provincial items of a Petersburg newspaper. Many people 
in the town talked of an old woman called Avdotya Petrovna 
Tarapygin who lived in the almshouse by the cemetery. She 
was said, on her way home from visiting a friend, to have forced ~ 





“a 


FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING ‘417 


her way into the crowd of spectators through natural curiosity. 
Seeing what was going on, she cried out, “What a shame!” 
and spat on theground. For this it was said she had been seized 
and flogged too. This story not only appeared in print, but 


in our excitement we positively got up a subscription for her 


benefit. I subscribed twenty kopecks myself. And would yuu 
believe it ? It appears now that there was no old woman called 
Tarapygin living in the almshouse at all! I went to inquire at 
the almshouse by the cemetery myself; they had never heard 
of anyone called Tarapygin there, and, what’s more, they were 
quite offended when I told them the story that was going round. 
I mention this fabulous Avdotya Petrovna because what hap- 
pened to her (if she really had existed) very nearly happened to 
Stepan Trofimovitch. Possibly, indeed, his adventure may 
have been at the bottom of the ridiculous tale about the old 
woman, that is, as the gossip went on growing he was transformed 
into this old dame. 

What I find most difficult to understand is how he came to 
slip away from me as soon as he got into the square. As I had 
a misgiving of something very unpleasant, I wanted to take 
him round the square straight to the entrance to the governor’s, 
but my own curiosity was roused, and I stopped only for one 


_ minute to question the first person I came across, and suddenly 


I looked round and found Stepan Trofimovitch no longer at my 
side. Instinctively I darted off to look for him in the most 
dangerous place ; something made me feel that his sledge, too, 
was flying downhill. And I did, as a fact, find him in the very 
centre of things. J remember I seized him by the arm; but he 
looked quietly and proudly at me with an air of immense 
authority. 

‘* Cher,” he pronounced in a voice which quivered on a breaking 
note, “‘ if they are dealing with people so unceremoniously before 
us, in an open square, what is to be expected from that man, for 
instance . . . if he happens to act on his own authority ?”’ 

And shaking with indignation and with an intense desire to 
defy them, he pointed a menacing, accusing finger at Flibusterov, 
who was gazing at us open-eyed two paces away. 

“That man!” cried the latter, blind with rage. ‘‘ What 
man? Andwho are you?” He stepped up to him, clenching 
his fist. ‘‘ Who are you?” he roared ferociously, hysterically, 
and desperately. (I must mention that he knew Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch perfectly well by sight.) Another moment and he would 

2D 


418 THE POSSESSED 


have certainly seized him by the collar; but luckily, hearing 
him shout, Lembke turned his head. He gazed intensely 
but with perplexity at Stepan Trofimovitch, seeming to 
consider something, and suddenly he shook his hand impatiently. 
Flibusterov was checked. I drew Stepan Trofimovitch out 
of the crowd, though perhaps he may have wished to retreat 
himself. 

‘‘Home, home,” I insisted; “it was certainly thanks to 
Lembke that we were not beaten.” 

‘“Go, my friend; I am to blame for exposing you to this. 
You have a future and a@ career of a sort before you, while I— 
mon heure est sonnée.’ 

He resolutely mounted the governor’s steps. The hall-porter 
knew me; I said that we both wanted to see Yulia Mihailovna. 
We sat down in the waiting-room and waited. Iwas unwilling 
to leave my friend, but I thought it unnecessary to say anything 
more to him. He had the air of a man who had consecrated 
himself to certain death for the sake of his country. We sat 
down, not side by side, but in different corners—lI nearer to the 
entrance, he at some distance facing me, with his head bent in 
thought, leaning lightly on his stick. He held his wide-brimmed 
hat in his left hand. We sat like that for ten minutes. 


IT 


Lembke suddenly came in with rapid steps, accompanied by 
the chief of police, looked absent-mindedly at us and, taking 
no notice of us, was about to pass into his study on the right, but 
Stepan Trofimovitch stood before him blocking his way. The 
tall figure of Stepan Trofimovitch, so unlike other people, made 
an impression. Lembke stopped. 

“Who is this ? ’’ he muttered, puzzled, as if he were questioning 
the chief of police, though he did not turn his head towards him, 
and was all the time gazing at Stepan Trofimovitch. 

“* Retired college assessor, Stepan Trofimovitch Verhovensky, 
your Excellency,’ answered Stepan Trofimovitch, bowing 
majestically. His Excellency went on staring at him with a 
very blank expression, however. 

“What is it ?’’ And with the curtness of a great official he 
turned his ear to Stepan Trofimovitch with disdainful impatience, ~ 


FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 419 


taking him for an ordinary person with a written petition of 
some sort. 

““T was visited and my house was searched to-day by an 
official acting in your Excellency’s name; therefore I am 
desirous . . .” 

“Name? Name?” lLembke asked impatiently, seeming 
suddenly to have an inkling of something. Stepan Trofimovitch 
repeated his name still more majestically. 

“A-a-ah! It’s ...that hotbed ... You have shown 
yourself, sir, in such a light. ... Are you a professor? a 
professor ? ”’ 

““T once had the honour of giving some lectures to the young 
men of the X university.” 

“The young men!” Lembke seemed to start, though I am 
ready to bet that he grasped very little of what was going on 
or even, perhaps, did not know with whom he was talking. 

“That, sir, I won’t allow,” he cried, suddenly getting terribly 
angry. “‘I won’tallow youngmen! It’s all these manifestoes ? 
It’s an assault on society, sir, a piratical attack, filibustering. .. . 
What is your request ? ”’ 

“On the contrary, your wife requested me to read something 
to-morrow at her féte. I’ve not come to make a request but to 
ask for my rights... .” 

*‘ At the féte ? There'll be no féte. I won’t allow your féte. 
A lecture? A lecture ?”’ he screamed furiously. 

“I should be very glad if you would speak to me rather more 
politely, your Excellency, without stamping or shouting at me 
as though I were a boy.” 

‘* Perhaps you understand whom you are speaking to ?”’ said 
Lembke, turning crimson. 

“ Perfectly, your Excellency.” 

‘*T am protecting society while you are destroying it! ... 
You ... 1 remember about you, though: you used to be a 
tutor in the house of Madame Stavrogin ?”’ 

‘Ves, I was in the position ... of tutor ... in the house 
of Madame Stavrogin.”’ 

“ And have been for twenty years the hotbed of all that has 
now accumulated ... all the fruits. . . . I believe I saw you 
just now in the square. You'd better look out, sir, you’d better 
look out; your way of thinking is well known. You may be 
sure that I keep my eye on you. I cannot allow your lectures, 
sir, lL cannot. Don’t come with such requests to me.”’ 


420 THE POSSESSED 


He would have passed on again. : | 

** I repeat that your Excellency is mistaken ; it was your wife 
who asked me to give, not a lecture, but a literary reading at 
the féte to-morrow. But I decline to do so in any case now. 
IT humbly request that you will explain to me if possible how, 
why, and for what reason I was subjected to an official search 
to-day ?. Some of my books and papers, private letters to me, 
were taken from me and wheeled through the town in a barrow.” 

“Who searched you ?”’ said Lembke, starting and returning 
to full consciousness of the position. He suddenly flushed all 
over. He turned quickly to the chief of police. At that moment 
the long, stooping, and awkward figure of Blum appeared in 
the doorway. 

“ Why, this official here,’’ said Stepan Trofimovitch, indicating 
him. Blum came forward with a face that admitted his respon- 
sibility but showed no contrition. 4 

“Vous ne faites que des bétises,’’ Lembke threw at him in a 
tone of vexation and anger, and suddenly he was transformed 
and completely himself again. 

‘Excuse me,” he muttered, utterly disconcerted and turning 


absolutely crimson, “all this . . . all this was probably a mere 
blunder, a misunderstanding... nothing but a misunder- 
standing.” 


“Your Excellency,’ observed Stepan Trofimovitch, ‘‘ once 
when I was young I saw a characteristic incident. In the 
corridor of a theatre a man ran up to another and gave him a 
sounding smack in the face before the whole public. Perceiving 
at once that his victim was not the person whom he had intended 
to chastise but some one quite different who only slightly 
resembled him, he pronounced angrily, with the haste of one 
whose moments are precious—as your Excellency did just now— 
‘T’ve madea mistake . . . excuse me, it was a misunderstanding, 
nothing but a misunderstanding.’ And when the offended man 
remained resentful and cried out, he observed to him, with 
extreme annoyance: “Why, I tell you it was a misunderstanding. 
What are you crying out about ?’ ” 


‘“ 'That’s .. . that’s very amusing, of course ’’—Lembke gave 
a wry smile—“ but . .... but can’t you see how unhappy I am 
myself ? ” 


He almost screamed, and seemed about to hide his face in 
his hands. | 
This unexpected and piteous exclamation, almost a sob, was 


FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 421 


almost more than one could bear. It was probably the first 
moment since the previous day that he had full, vivid conscious- 
ness of all that had happened—and it was followed by complete, 
humiliating despair that could not be disguised—who knows, in 
another minute he might have sobbed aloud.. For the first 
moment Stepan Trofimovitch looked wildly at him; then he 
suddenly bowed his head and in a voice pregnant with feeling 
pronounced : 

“Your Excellency, don’t trouble yourself with my petulant 
complaint, and only give orders for my books and letters to be 
restored to me... .” 

He was interrupted. At that very instant Yulia Mihailovna 
returned and entered noisily with all the party which had accom- 
panied her. But at this point I should like to tell my story in 
as much detail as possible. 


Til 


In the first place, the whole company who had filled three 
carriages crowded into the waiting-room. There was a special 
entrance to Yulia Mihailovna’s apartments on the left as one 
entered the house; but on this occasion they all went through 
the waiting-room—and I imagine just because Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch was there, and because all that had happened to him as 
well as the Shpigulin affair had reached Yulia Mihailovna’s ears 
as she drove into the town. lLyamshin, who for some mis- 
demeanour had not been invited to join the party and so knew 
all that had been happening in the town before anyone else, 
brought her the news. With spiteful glee he hired a wretched 
Cossack nag and hastened on the way to Skvoreshniki to meet 
the returning cavalcade with the diverting intelligence. I fancy 
that, in spite of her lofty determination, Yulia Mihailovna was 
a little disconcerted on hearing such surprising news, but probably 
only for an instant. The political aspect of the afiair, for 
instance, could not cause her uneasiness; Pyotr Stepanovitch 
had impressed upon her three or four times that the Shpigulin 
ruffians ought to be flogged, and Pyotr Stepanovitch certainly 
had for some time past been a great authority in her eyes. “ But 
. . . anyway, I shall make him pay for it,’”’ she doubtless reflected. 
the ‘he,’ of course, referring to her spouse. I must observe 
in passing that on this occasion, as though purposely, Pyotr 


422 THE POSSESSED 


Stepanovitch had taken no part in the expedition, and no one 
had seen him all day. I must mention too, by the way, that 
Varvara Petrovna had come back to the town with her guests 
(in the same carriage with Yulia Mihailovna) in order to be 
present at the last meeting of the committee which was arranging 
the féte for the next day. She too must have been interested, 
and perhaps even agitated, by the news about Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch communicated by Lyamshin. 

The hour of reckoning for Andrey Antonovitch followed at 
once. Alas! he felt that from the first glance at his admirable 
wife. With an open air and an enchanting smile she went quickly 
up to Stepan Trofimovitch, held out her exquisitely gloved hand, 
and greeted him with a perfect shower of flattering phrases— 
as though the only thing she cared about that morning was to 
make haste to be charming to Stepan Trofimovitch because at 
last she saw him in her house. There was not one hint of the 
search that morning ; it was as though she knew nothing of it. 
There was not one word to her husband, not one glance in his 
direction—as though he had not been in the room. What’s 
more, she promptly confiscated Stepan Trofimovitch and carried 
him off to the drawing-room—as though he had had no interview 
with Lembke, or as though it was not worth prolonging if he 
had. I repeat again, I think that in this, Yulia Mihailovna, in 
spite of her aristocratic tone, made another great mistake. 
And Karmazinov particularly did much to aggravate this. 
(He had taken part in the expedition at Yulia Mihailovna’s 
special request, and in that way had, incidentally, paid his 
visit to Varvara Petrovna, and she was so poor-spirited as to be 
perfectly delighted at it.) On seeing Stepan Trofimovitch, he 
called out from the doorway (he came in behind the rest) 
and pressed forward to embrace him, even interrupting Yulia 
Mihailovna. 

‘What years, what ages! At last ... excellent ami.” 

He made as though to kiss him, offering his cheek, of course, 
and Stepan Trofimovitch was so fluttered that he could not 
avoid saluting it. 

‘““ Cher,” he said to me that evening, recalling all the events 
of that day, “I wondered at that moment which of us was the 
most contemptible: he, embracing me only to humiliate me, 
or I, despising him and his face and kissing it on the spot, though 
I might have turned away. . Foo!” 

“Come, tell me about yourself, tell me everything,” Kar- 


FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 423 


mazinov drawled and lisped, as though it were possible for him 
on the spur of the moment to give an account of twenty-five 
years of his life. But this foolish trifling was the height of 
“ehic.?? 

“Remember that the last time we met was at the Granovsky 
dinner in Moscow, and that twenty-four years have passed since 
then...’ Stepan Trofimovitch began very reasonably (and 
consequently not at all in the same “ chic ”’ style). 

“Ce cher homme,” Karmazinov interrupted with shrill fami- 
liarity, squeezing his shoulder with exaggerated friendliness. 
“Make haste and take us to your room, Yulia Mihailovna ; 
there he’ll sit down and tell us everything.”’ 

“ And yet I was never at all intimate with that peevish old 
woman,’ Stepan Trofimovitch went on complaining to me 
that same evening, shaking with anger; “‘ we were almost boys, 
and I’d begun to detest him even then . . . just as he had me, 
of course.” 

Yulia Mihailovna’s drawing-room filled up quickly. Varvara 
Petrovna was particularly excited, though she tried to appear 
indifferent, but I caught her once or twice glancing with hatred 
at Karmazinov and with wrath at Stepan Trofimovitch—the 
wrath of anticipation, the wrath of jealousy and love: if Stepan 
Trofimovitch had blundered this time and had let Karmazinov 
make him look small before every one, I believe she would have 
leapt up and beaten him. I have forgotten to say that Liza 
too was there, and I had never seen her more radiant, carelessly 
light-hearted, and happy. Mavriky Nikolaevitch was there too, 
of course. In the crowd of young ladies and rather vulgar 
young men who made up Yulia Mihailovna’s usual retinue, and 
among whom this vulgarity was taken for sprightliness, and 
cheap cynicism for wit, I noticed two or three new faces: a 
very obsequious Pole who was on a visit in the town; a German 
doctor, a sturdy old fellow who kept loudly laughing with 
great zest at his own wit; and lastly, a very young princeling 
from Petersburg like an automaton figure, with the deportment 
of a state dignitary and a fearfully high collar. But it was 
evident that Yulia Mihailovna had a very high opinion of this 
visitor, and was even a little anxious of the impression he 
salon was making on him. 

“Cher M. Karmazinov,” said Stepan Trofimovitch, sitting 
in a picturesque pose on the sofa and suddenly beginning to lisp 
as daintily as Karmazinov himself, ‘cher M. Karmazinov, the 


424 THE POSSESSED 


life of a man of our time and of certain convictions, even after an 
interval of twenty-five years, is bound toseem monotonous .. .” 

The German went off into a loud abrupt guffaw like a neigh, 
evidently imagining that Stepan Trofimovitch had said some- 
thing exceedingly funny. The latter gazed at him with studied 
amazement but produced no effect on him whatever. The 
prince, too, looked at the German, turning head, collar and all, 
towards him and putting up his pince-nez, though without the 
slightest curiosity. | 

“«. . . Is bound to seem monotonous,” Stepan Trofimovitch 
intentionally repeated, drawling each word as deliberately and 
nonchalantly as possible. ‘‘ And so my life has been throughout 
this quarter of a century, ef comme on trouve partout plus de 
moines que de raison, and as I am entirely of this opinion, it has 
come to pass that throughout this quarter of a century I .. .” 

“Mest charmant, les moines,’ whispered Yulia Mihailovna, 
turning to Varvara Petrovna, who was sitting beside her. 

Varvara Petrovna responded with a look of pride. But Kar- 
mazinov could not stomach the success of the French phrase, 
and quickly and shrilly interrupted Stepan Trofimovitch. _ 

‘““As for me, I am quite at rest on that score, and for the 
past seven years I’ve been settled at Karlsruhe. And last year, 
when it was proposed by the town council to lay down a new 
water-pipe, I felt in my heart that this question of water-pipes in 
Karlsruhe was dearer and closer to my heart than all the questions 
of my precious Fatherland ...in this period of so-called 
reform.” 

“T can’t help sympathising, though it goes against the 
grain,’ sighed Stepan Trofimovitch, bowing his head signifi- 
cantly. 

Yulia Mihailovna was triumphant: the conversation was 
becoming profound and taking a political turn. 

‘A drain-pipe ?”’ the doctor inquired in a loud voice. 

“A water-pipe, doctor, a water-pipe, and I positively assisted 
them in drawing up the plan.” 

The doctor went off into a deafening guffaw. Many people 
followed his example, laughing in the face of the doctor, who 
remained unconscious of it and was highly delighted that every 
one was laughing. 

“You must allow me to differ from you, Karmazinov,” Yulia 
Mihailovna hastened to interpose. ‘“‘ Karlsruhe is all very well, 
but you are fond of mystifying people, and this time we don’t 


FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 425 


believe you. What Russian writer has presented so many 
modern types, has brought forward so many contemporary 
problems, has put his finger on the most vital modern points which 
make up the type of the modern man of action? You, only 
you, andnooneelse. It’sno use your assuring us of your coldness 
towards your own country and your ardent interest in the water- 
pipes of Karlsruhe. Ha ha!” 

“Yes, no doubt,” lisped Karmazinov. “I have portrayed 
in the character of Pogozhev all the failings of the Slavophils 
and in the character of Nikodimov all the failings of the 
Westerners. .. .” 

“TI say, hardly all /”’ Lyamshin whispered slyly. 

‘“‘ But I do this by the way, simply to while away the tedious 
hours and to satisfy the persistent demands of my fellow- 
countrymen.” 

“You are probably aware, Stepan Trofimovitch,’ Yulia 
Mihailovna went on enthusiastically, “‘ that to-morrow we shall. 
have the delight of hearing the charming lines . . . one of the 
last of Semyon Yakovlevitch’s exquisite literary inspirations— 
it’s called Merci. He announces in this piece that he will 
write no more, that nothing in the world will induce him to, 
if angels from Heaven or, what’s more, all the best society were 
to implore him to change his mind. In fact he is laying down 
the pen for good, and this graceful Merci is addressed to the 
public in grateful acknowledgment of the constant enthusiasm 
with which it has for so many years greeted his unswerving 
loyalty to true Russian thought.” 

Yulia Mihailovna was at the acme of bliss. 

*“Yes, I shall make my farewell; I shall say my Mercz 
and depart and there .. . in Karlsruhe . . . I shall close my 
eyes.” Karmazinov was gradually becoming maudlin. 

Like many of our great writers (and there are numbers of them 
amongst us), he could not resist praise, and began to be limp 
at once, in spite of his penetrating wit. But I consider this is 
pardonable. They say that one of our Shakespeares positively 
blurted out in private conversation that “ we great men can’t do 
otherwise,’ and so on, and, what’s more, was unaware of it. 

“There in Karlsruhe I shall close my eyes. When we have 
done our duty, all that’s left for us great men is to make haste 
to close our eyes without seeking a reward. I shall do so too.”’ 

“Give me the address and I shall come to Karlsruhe to visit 
your tomb,”’ said the German, laughing immoderately. 


426 THE POSSESSED 


‘‘ They send corpses by rail nowadays,’ one of the less important 
young men said unexpectedly. : 

Lyamshin positively shrieked with delight. Yulia Mihailovna 
frowned. Nikolay Stavrogin walked in. 

‘“‘ Why, I was told that you were locked up ?”’ he said aloud, 
addressing Stepan Trofimovitch before every one else. 

‘“ No, it was a case of unlocking,”’ jested Stepan Trofimovitch. 

‘“‘ But I hope that what’s happened will have no influence on 
what I asked you to do,” Yulia Mihailovna put in again. “I 
trust that you will not let this unfortunate annoyance, of which 
I had no idea, lead you to disappoint our eager expectations and 
deprive us of the enjoyment of hearing your reading at our 
literary matinée.”’ 

“iFudon’t) knowjok ews) omowueng’? 

‘Really, I am so unlucky, Varvara Petrovna ... and only 
fancy, just when I was so longing to make the personal acquaint- 
ance of one of the most remarkable and independent intellects 
of Russia—and here Stepan Trofimovitch suddenly talks of 
deserting us.” 

‘Your compliment is uttered so audibly that I ought to 
pretend not to hear it,’’ Stepan Trofimovitch said neatly, “* but 
I cannot believe that my insignificant presence is so indispensable 
at your féte to-morrow. However, I...” 

“Why, you'll spoil him ! ”’ cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, bursting 
into the room. ‘I’ve only just got him in hand—and in one 
morning he has been searched, arrested, taken by the collar by 
a policeman, and here ladies are cooing to him in the governor’s 
drawing-room. Every bone in his body is aching with rapture ; 
in his wildest dreams he had never hoped for such good fortune. 
Now he’ll begin informing against the Socialists after this! ”’ 

‘“‘Tmpossible, Pyotr Stepanovitch! Socialism is too grand 
an idea to be unrecognised by Stepan Trofimoyitch.” Yulia 
Mihailovna took up the gauntlet with energy. 

‘* It’s a great idea but its exponents are not always great men, 
et brisons-la, mon cher,” Stepan Trofimovitch ended, addressing 
his son and rising gracefully from his seat. 

But at this point an utterly unexpected circumstance occurred. 
Von Lembke had been in the room for some time but seemed 
unnoticed by anyone, though every one had seen him come in. 
In accordance with her former plan, Yulia Mihailovna went on 
ignoring him. He took up his position near the door and with 
a stern face listened gloomily to the conversation. Hearing 


FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 427 


an allusion to the events of the morning, he began fidgeting 
uneasily, stared at the prince, obviously struck by his stiffly 
starched, prominent collar; then suddenly he seemed to start 
on hearing the voice of Pyotr Stepanovitch and seeing him burst 
in; and no sooner had Stepan Trofimovitch uttered his phrase 
about Socialists than Lembke went up to him, pushing against 
Lyamshin, who at once skipped out of the way with an affected 
gesture of surprise, rubbing his shoulder and pretending that 
he had been terribly bruised. 

“Enough!” said Von Lembke to Stepan Trofimovitch, 
vigorously gripping the hand of the dismayed gentleman and 
squeezing it with all his might in both of his. “‘ Enough! The 
filibusters of our day are unmasked. Not another word. 
Measures have been taken. . . .” 

He spoke loudly enough to be heard by all the room, and 
concluded with energy. ‘The impression he produced was poig- 
nant. Everybody felt that something was wrong. I saw Yulia 
Mihailovna turn pale. The effect was heightened by a trivial 
accident. After announcing that measures had been taken, 
Lembke turned sharply and walked quickly towards the door, 
but he had hardly taken two steps when he stumbled over a 
rug, swerved forward, and almost fell. For a moment he stood 
still, looked at the rug at which he had stumbled, and, uttering 
aloud “‘ Change it!” went out of the room. Yulia Mihailovna 
ran after him. Her exit was followed by an uproar, in which 
it was difficult to distinguish anything. Some said he was 
‘“‘ deranged,”’ others that he was “liable to attacks ’’; others 
put their fingers to their forehead ; Lyamshin, in the corner, 
put his two fingers above his forehead. People hinted at some 
domestic difficulties—in a whisper, of course. No one took up 
his hat ; all were waiting. I don’t know what Yulia Mihailovna 
managed to do, but five minutes later she came back, doing her 
utmost to appear composed. She replied evasively that Andrey 
Antonovitch was rather excited, but that it meant nothing, that 
he had been like that from a child, that she knew “‘ much better,” 
and that the féte next day would certainly cheer him up. Then 
followed a few flattering words to Stepan Trofimovitch simply 
from civility, and a loud invitation to the members of the com- 
mittee to open the meeting now, at once. Only then, all who 
were not members of the committee prepared to go home; but 
the painful incidents of this fatal day were not yet over. 

I noticed at the moment when Nikolay Stavrogin came in 


428 THE POSSESSED 


that Liza looked quickly and intently at him and was for a long 
time unable to take her eyes off him—so much so that at last it 
attracted attention. I saw Mavriky Nikolaevitch bend over 
her from behind; he seemed to mean to whisper something 
to her, but evidently changed his intention and drew himself 
up quickly, looking round at every one with a guilty air. Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch too excited curiosity ; his face was paler than 
usual and there was a strangely absent-minded look in his eyes. 
After flinging his question at Stepan Trofimovitch he seemed to 
forget about him altogether, and I really believe he even forgot 
to speak to his hostess. He did not once look at Liza—not 
because he did not want to, but I am certain because he did not 
notice her either. And suddenly, after the brief silence that 
followed Yulia Mihailovna’s invitation to open the meeting 
without loss of time, Liza’s musical voice, intentionally loud, 
was heard. She called to Stavrogin. 

‘Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, a captain who calls himself a 
relation of yours, the brother of your wife, and whose name is 
Lebyadkin, keeps writing impertinent letters to me, complaining 
of you and offering to tell me some secrets about you. If he 
really is a connection of yours, please tell him not to annoy me, 
and save me from this unpleasantness.” 

There was a note of desperate challenge in these words—every 
one realised it. The accusation was unmistakable, though 
perhaps it was a surprise to herself. She was like a man who 
shuts his eyes and throws himself from the roof. 

But Nikolay Stavrogin’s answer was even more astounding. 

To begin with, it was strange that he was not in the least 
surprised and listened to Liza with unruffled attention. There 
was no trace of either confusion or anger in his face. Simply, 
firmly, even with an air of perfect readiness, he answered the fatal 
question : 

‘“ Yes, I have the misfortune to be connected with that man. 
I have been the husband of his sister for nearly five years. You 
may be sure I will give him your message as soon as possible, 
and I'll answer for it that he shan’t annoy you again.” 

I shall never forget the horror that was reflected on the face 
of Varvara Petrovna. With a distracted air she got up from her 
seat, lifting up her right hand as though to ward off a blow, 
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked at her, looked at Liza, at the 
spectators, and suddenly smiled with infinite disdain ; he walked 
deliberately out of the room. Every one saw how Liza leapt 


FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING 429 


up from the sofa as soon as he turned to go and unmistakably 
made a movement to run after him. But she controlled herself 
and did not run after him; she went quietly out of the room 
without saying a word or even looking at anyone, accompanied, 
of course, by Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who rushed after her. 

The uproar and the gossip that night in the town I will not 
attempt to describe. Varvara Petrovna shut herself up in her 
town house and Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, it was said, went 
straight to Skvoreshniki without seeing his mother. Stepan 
Trofimovitch sent me that evening to cette chére amie to implore 
her to allow him to come to her, but she would not see me. He 
was terribly overwhelmed ; he shed tears. ‘‘ Such a marriage ! 
Such a marriage! Such an awful thing in the family!” he 
kept repeating. He remembered Karmazinov, however, and 
abused him terribly. He set to work vigorously to prepare for 
the reading too and—the artistic temperament !—rehearsed 
before the looking-glass and went over all the jokes and witticisms 
uttered in the course of his life which he had written down in a 
separate notebook, to insert into his reading next day. 

‘‘ My dear, I do this for the sake of a great idea,” he said to 
me, obviously justifying himself. “‘ Cher ami, I have been 
stationary for twenty-five years and suddenly I’ve begun to 
move—whither, I know not—but I’ve begun to move... .” 


PART III 


CHAPTER I 
THE FETE—FIRST PART 


I 


Tue féte took place in spite of all the perplexities of the pre- 
ceding “‘Shpigulin”’ day. I believe that even if Lembke had 
died the previous night, the féte would still have taken place 
next morning—so peculiar was the significance Yulia Mihailovna 
attached to it. Alas! up to the last moment she was blind and 
had no inkling of the state of public feeling. No one believed 
at last that the festive day would pass without some tremendous 
scandal, some ‘catastrophe’? as some people expressed it, 
rubbing their hands in anticipation. Many people, it is true, 
tried to assume a frowning and diplomatic countenance ; but, 
speaking generally, every Russian is inordinately delighted at 
any public scandal and disorder. It is true that we did feel 
something much more serious than the mere craving for a 
scandal: there was a general feeling of irritation, a feeling of 
implacable resentment ; every one seemed thoroughly disgusted 
with everything. A kind of bewildered cynicism, a forced, as 
it were, strained cynicism was predominant in every one. The 
only people who were free from bewilderment were the ladies, 
and they were clear on only one point : their remorseless detesta- 
tion of Yulia Mihailovna. Ladies of all shades of opinion were 
agreed in this. And she, poor dear, had no suspicion; up to 
the last hour she was persuaded that she was ‘‘ surrounded by 
followers,” and that they were still ‘“fanatically devoted to 
her.” 

I have already hinted that some low fellows of different sorts 
had made their appearance amongst us. In turbulent times 
of upheaval or transition low characters always come to the 
front everywhere. I am not speaking now of the so-called 
‘*‘ advanced ’’ people who are always in a hurry to be in advance 
of every one else (their absorbing anxiety) and who always have 
some more or less definite, though often very stupid, aim. No, 

430 


THE FETE—FIRST PART 43} 


I am speaking only of the riff-raff. In every period of transition 
this riff-raff, which exists in every society, rises to the surface, 
and is not only without any aim but has not even a symptom 
of an idea, and merely does its utmost to give expression to 
uneasiness and impatience. Moreover, this riff-raff almost 
always falls unconsciously under the control of the little group 
of “ advanced people’? who do act with a definite aim, and this 
little group can direct all this rabble as it pleases, if only it 
does not itself consist of absolute idiots, which, however, is some- 
times the case. It is said among us now that it is all over, that 
Pyotr Stepanovitch was directed by the Internationale, and 
Yulia Mihailovna by Pyotr Stepanovitch, while she controlled, 
under his rule, a rabble of all sorts. The more sober minds 
amongst us wonder at themselves now, and can’t understand 
how they came to be so foolish at the time. 

What constituted the turbulence of our time and what transi- 
tion if was we were passing through I don’t know, nor I think 
does anyone, unless it were some of those visitors of ours. Yet 
the most worthless fellows suddenly gained predominant in- 
fluence, began loudly criticising everything sacred, though till 
then they had not dared to open their mouths, while the leading 
people, who had till then so satisfactorily kept the upper hand, 
began listening to. them and holding their peace, some even 
simpered approval in a most shameless way. People like 
Lyamshin and Telyatnikov, like Gogol’s Tentyotnikov, drivelling 
home-bred editions of Radishtchev, wretched little Jews with 
a mournful but haughty smile, guffawing foreigners, poets of 
advanced tendencies from the capital, poets who made up with 
peasant coats and tarred boots for the lack of tendencies or 
talents, majors and colonels who ridiculed the senselessness of 
the service, and who would have been ready for an extra rouble to 
unbuckle their swords, and take jobs as railway clerks ; generals 
who had abandoned their duties to become lawyers ; advanced 
mediators, advancing merchants, innumerable divinity students, 
women who were the embodiment of the woman question—all 
these suddenly gained complete sway among us and over whom ? 
Over the club, the venerable officials, over generals with wooden 
legs, over the very strict and inaccessible ladies of our local 
society. Since even Varvara Petrovna was almost at the beck 
and call of this rabble, right up to the time of the catastrophe 
with her son, our other local Minervas may well be pardoned 
for their temporary aberration. Now all this is attributed, as 


432 THE POSSESSED 


I have mentioned already, to the Internationale. This idea has 
taken such root that it is given as the explanation to visitors from 
other parts. Only lately councillor Kubrikov, a man of sixty- 
two, with the Stanislav Order on his breast, came forward 
uninvited and confessed in a voice full of feeling that he had 
beyond a shadow of doubt been for fully three months under the 
influence. of the Internationale. When with every deference 
for his years and services he was invited to be more definite, he 
stuck firmly to his original statement, though he could produce 
no evidence except that “ he had felt it in all his feelings,” so that 
they cross-examined him no further. 

I repeat again, there was still even among us a small 
group who held themselves aloof from the beginning, and even 
locked themselves up. But what lock can stand against a 
law of nature? Daughters will grow up even in the most 
careful families, and it is essential for grown-up daughters to 
dance. 

And so all these people, too, ended by subscribing to the 
governesses’ fund. 

The ball was assumed to be an entertainment so brilliant, 
so unprecedented; marvels were told about it; there were 
rumours of princes from a distance with lorgnettes; of ten 
stewards, all young dandies, with rosettes on their left shoulder ; 
of some Petersburg people who were setting the thing going ; 
there was a rumour that Karmazinov had consented to increase 
the subscriptions to the fund by reading his Merci in the 
costume of the governesses of the district ; that there would be 
a literary quadrille all in costume, and every costume would 
symbolise some special line of thought ; and finally that “‘ honest 
Russian thought’’ would dance in costume—which would cer- 
tainly be a complete novelty in itself. Who could resist 
subscribing ? Every one subscribed. 


Il 


The programme of the féte was divided into two parts: the 
literary matinée from midday till four o’clock, and afterwards a 
ball from ten o’clock onwards through the night. But in this 
very programme there lay concealed germs of disorder. In 
the first place, from the very beginning a rumour had gained 
ground among the public concerning a luncheon immediately 


THE FETE—FIRST PART 433 


after the literary matinée, or even while it was going on, during 
an interval arranged expressly for it—a free luncheon, of course, 
which would form part of the programme and be accompanied 
by champagne. The immense price of the tickets (three 
roubles) tended to confirm this rumour. ‘‘As though one 
would subscribe for nothing ? The féte is arranged for twenty- 
four hours, so food must be provided. People will get hungry.” 
This was how people reasoned in the town. I must admit that 
Yulia Mihailovna did much to confirm this disastrous rumour 
by her own heedlessness. A month earlier, under the first spell 
of the great project, she would babble about it to anyone she 
met, and even sent a paragraph to one of the Petersburg papers 
about the toasts and speeches arranged for her féte. What 
fascinated her most at that time was the idea of these toasts; 
she wanted to propose them herself and was continually eom- 
posing them in anticipation. They were to make clear what 
was their banner (what was it? I don’t mind betting that the 
poor dear composed nothing after all), they were to get into the 
Petersburg and Moscow papers, to touch and fascinate the higher 
powers and then to spread the idea over all the provinces of 
Russia, rousing people to wonder and imitation. 

But for toasts, champagne was essential, and as champagne 
can’t be drunk on an empty stomach, it followed that a lunch 
was essential too. Afterwards, when by her efforts a com- 
mittee had been formed and had attacked the subject more 
seriously, it was proved clearly to her at once that if they were 
going to dream of banquets there would be very little left for the 
governesses, however well people subscribed. There were two 
ways out of the difficulty : either Belshazzar’s feast with toasts 
and speeches, and ninety roubles for the governesses, or a con- 
siderable sum of money with the féte only as a matter of form to 
raise it. The committee, however, only wanted to scare her, and 
had of course worked out a third course of action, which was 
reasonable and combined the advantages of both, that is, a very 
decent féte in every respect only without champagne, and so 
yielding a very respectable sum, much more than ninety roubles. 
But Yulia Mihailovna would not agree to it: her proud spirit 
revolted from paltry compromise. She decided at once that if 
the original idea could not be carried out they should rush to the — 
opposite extreme, that is, raise an enormous subscription that 
would be the envy of other provinces. ‘‘The public must 
understand,’ she said at the end of her flaming speech to the 

2E 


434 THE POSSESSED 


committee, “‘that the attainment of an object of universal 
human interest is infinitely loftier than the corporeal enjoyments | 
of the passing moment, that the féte in its essence is only the 
proclamation of a great idea, and so we ought to be content with 
the most frugal German ball simply as a symbol, that is, if we 
can’t dispense with this detestable ball altogether,” so great was 
the aversion she suddenly conceived for it.. But she was pacified 
at last. It was then that “the literary quadrille’’ and the 
other esthetic items were invented and proposed as substitutes for 
the corporeal enjoyments. It was then that Karmazinov finally 
consented to read Merci (until then he had only tantalised 
them by his hesitation) and so eradicate the very idea of victuals 
from the minds of our incontinent public. So the ball was once 

more to be a magnificent function, though in a different style. 
And not to be too ethereal it was decided that tea with lemon 
and round biscuits should be served at the beginning of the ball, 
and later on “‘ orchade ’’ and lemonade and at the end even ices— 
but nothing else. For those who always and everywhere are 
hungry and, still more, thirsty, they might open a buffet in the 
farthest of the suite of rooms and put it in charge of Prohorovitch, 
the head cook of the club, who would, subject to the strict 
supervision of the committee, serve whatever was wanted, at a 
fixed charge, and a notice should be put up on the door of the 
hall that refreshments were extra. But on the morning they 
decided not to open the buffet at all for fear of disturbing the 
reading, though the buffet would have been five rooms off 
the White Hall in which Karmazinov had consented to read 
Mercer. 

It is remarkable that the committee, and even the most 
practical people in it, attached enormous consequence to this 
reading. As for people of poetical tendencies, the marshal’s 
wife, for instance, informed Karmazinov that after the reading 
she would immediately order a marble slab to be put up in the 
wall of the White Hall with an inscription in gold letters, that on 
such a day and year, here, in this place, the great writer of 
Russia and of Europe had read Merci on laying aside his 
pen, and so had for the first time taken leave of the Russian 
public represented by the leading citizens of our town, and that 
this inscription would be read by all at the ball, that is, only five 
hours after Merci had been read. I know for a fact that 
Karmazinov it was who insisted that there should be no buffet 
in the morning on any account, while he was reading, in spite of 


THE FETE—FIRST PART 435 


some protests from members of the committee that this was 
rather opposed to our way of doing things. 

This was the position of affairs, while in the town people were 
still reckoning on a Belshazzar feast, that is, on refreshments 
provided by the committee; they believed in this to the last 
hour. Even the young ladies were dreaming of masses of 
sweets and preserves, and something more beyond their imagina- 
tion. Every one knew that the subscriptions had reached a 
huge sum, that all the town was struggling to go, that people 
were driving in from the surrounding districts, and that there 
were not tickets enough. It was known, too, that there had 
been some large subscriptions apart from the price paid for 
tickets : Varvara Petrovna, for instance, had paid three hundred 
roubles for her ticket and had given almost all the flowers from 
her conservatory to decorate the room. The marshal’s wife, 
who was a member of the committee, provided the house and 
the lighting ; the club furnished the music, the attendants, and 
gave up Prohorovitch for the whole day. There were other con- 
tributions as well, though lesser ones, so much so indeed that 
the idea was mooted of cutting down the price of tickets from 
three roubles to two. Indeed, the committee were afraid at 
first that three roubles would be too much for young ladies to 
pay, and suggested that they might have family tickets, so that 
every family should pay for one daughter only, while the other 
young ladies of the family, even if there were a dozen specimens, 
should be admitted free. But all their apprehensions turned 
out to be groundless: it was just the young ladies who did 
come. Even the poorest clerks brought their girls, and it was 
quite evident that if they had had no girls it would never have 
occurred to them to subscribe for tickets. One insignificant 
little secretary brought all his seven daughters, to say nothing 
of his wife and a niece into the bargain, and every one of these 
persons held in her hand an entrance ticket that cost three 
roubles. 

It may be imagined what an upheaval it made in the town ! 
One has only to remember that as the féte was divided into two 
parts every lady needed two costumes for the occasion—a 
-morning one for the matinée and a ball dress for the evening. 

Many middle-class people, as it appeared afterwards, had pawned 
everything they had for that day, even the family linen, even the 
sheets, and possibly the mattresses, to the Jews, who had been 
settling in our town in great numbers during the previous two 


436 - THE POSSESSED 


years and who became more and more numerous as time went on. 
Almost all the officials had asked for their salary in advance, and 
some of the landowners sold beasts they could ill spare, and all 
simply to bring their ladies got up as marchionesses, and to be as 
good as anybody The magnificence of dresses on this occasion 
was something unheard of in our neighbourhood. For a fort- 
night beforehand the town was overflowing with funny stories 
which were all brought by our wits to Yulia Mihailovna’s court. 
Caricatures were passed from hand to hand. I have seen some 
drawings of the sort myself, in Yulia Mihailovna’s album. 
All this reached the ears of the families who were the source of 
the jokes; I believe this was the cause of the general hatred of 
Yulia Mihailovna which had grown so strong in the town. 
People swear and gnash their teeth when they think of it now. 
But it was evident, even at the time, that if the committee were 
to displease them in anything, or if anything went wrong at the 
ball, the outburst of indignation would be something surprising. 
That’s why every one was secretly expecting a scandal; and if 
it was so confidently expected, how could it fail to come to pass ? 

The orchestra struck up punctually at midday. Being one 
of the stewards, that is, one of the twelve ‘‘ young men with a 
rosette,” I saw with my own eyes how this day of ignominious 
memory began. It began with an enormous crush at the doors. 
How was it that everything, including the police, went wrong 
that day ? I don’t blame the genuine public: the fathers of 
families did not crowd, nor did they push against anyone, in spite 
of their position. On the contrary, Iam told that they were 
disconcerted even in the street, at the sight of the crowd shoving 
in a way unheard of in our town, besieging the entry and taking 
it by assault, instead of simply goingin. Meanwhile the carriages 
kept driving up, and at last blocked the street. Now, at the 
time I write, I have good grounds for affirming that some of the 
lowest rabble of our town were brought in without tickets by 
Lyamshin and Liputin, possibly, too, by other people who were 
stewards like me. Anyway, some complete strangers, who had 
come from the surrounding districts and elsewhere, were present. 
As soon as these savages entered the hall they began asking where 
the buffet was, as though they had been put up to it beforehand, 
and learning that there was no buffet they began swearing with 
brutal directness, and an unprecedented insolence ; some of them, 
it is true, were drunk when they came. Some of them were 
dazed like savages at the splendour of the hall, as they had never ° 


THE FETE—FIRST PART 437 


seen anything like it, and subsided for a minute gazing at it open- 
mouthed. This great White Hall really was magnificent, though 
the building was falling into decay: it was of immense size, with 
two rows of windows, with an old-fashioned ceiling covered with 
gilt carving, with a gallery with mirrors on the walls, red and 
white draperies, marble statues (nondescript but still statues) 
with heavy old furniture of the Napoleonic period, white and 
gold, upholstered in red velvet. At the moment I am describing, 
a high platform had been put up for the literary gentlemen who 
were to read, and the whole hall was filled with chairs like the 
parterre of a theatre with wide aisles for the audience. 

But after the first moments of surprise the most senseless 


questions and protests followed. ‘‘ Perhaps we don’t care for a 
reading. . . . We’ve paid our money. ... The audience has 
been impudently swindled. . . . This is our entertainment, not 


the Lembkes’! They seemed, in fact, to have been let in 
for this purpose. I remember specially an encounter in which 
the princeling with the stand-up collar and the face of a Dutch 
doll, whom I had met the morning before at Yulia Mihailovna’s, 
distinguished himself. He had, at her urgent request, consented 
to pin a rosette on his left shoulder and to become one of our 
stewards. It turned out that this dumb wax figure could act after 
a fashion of his own, if he could not talk. When a colossal pock- 
marked captain, supported by a herd of rabble following at his 
heels, pestered him by asking “ which way to the buffet ? ”’ he 
made a sign to a police sergeant. His hint was promptly acted 
upon, and in spite of the drunken captain’s abuse he was dragged 
out of the hall. Meantime the genuine public began to make its 
appearance, and stretched in three long files between the chairs. 
The disorderly elements began to subside, but the public, even 
the most “‘respectable”’ among them, had a dissatisfied and 
perplexed air ; some of the ladies looked positively scared. 

At last all were seated; the music ceased. People began 
blowing their noses and looking about them. They waited with 
too solemn an air—which is always a bad sign. But nothing was to 
be seen yet of the Lembkes. Silks, velvets, diamonds glowed and 
sparkled on every side; whiffs of fragrance filled the air. The 
_ men were wearing all their decorations, and the old men were 
even in uniform. At last the marshal’s wife came in with Liza. 
Liza had never been so dazzlingly charming or so splendidly 
dressed as that morning. Her hair was done up in curls, her 
eyes sparkled, a smile beamed on her face. She made an 


438 THE POSSESSED 


unmistakable sensation: people scrutinised her and whispered 
about her. They said that she was looking for Stavrogin, but 
neither Stavrogin nor Varvara Petrovna were there. At the 
time I did not understand the expression of her face: why was 
there so much happiness, such joy, such energy and strength in 
that face? I remembered what had happened the day before 
and could not make it out. 

But still the Lembkes did not come. This was distinctly a 
blunder. I learned that Yulia Mihailovna waited till the last 
minute for Pyotr Stepanovitch, without whom she could not stir 
a step, though she never admitted it to herself. I must mention, 
in parenthesis, that on the previous day Pyotr Stepanovitch had 
at the last meeting of the committee declined to wear the rosette 
of a steward, which had disappointed her dreadfully, even to the 
point of tears. To her surprise and, later on, her extreme dis- 
comfiture (to anticipate things) he vanished for the whole morn- 
ing and did not make his appearance at the literary matinée at 
all, so that no one met him till evening. At last the audience 
began to manifest unmistakable signs of impatience. No one 
appeared on the platform either. The back rows began applaud- 
ing, as in a theatre. The elderly gentlemen and the ladies 
frowned. ‘‘ The Lembkes are really giving themselves unbear- 
able airs.”” Even among the better part of the audience an absurd 
whisper began to gain ground that perhaps there would not be a 
féte at all, that Lembke perhaps was really unwell, and so on and 
soon. But, thank God, the Lembkes at last appeared, she was 
leaning on his arm; I must confess I was in great apprehension 
myself about their appearance. But the legends were disproved, 
and the truth was triumphant. The audience seemed relieved. 
Lembke himself seemed perfectly well. Every one, I remember, 
was of that opinion, for it can be imagined how many eyes were 
turned on him. I may mention, as characteristic of our society, 
that there were very few of the better-class people who saw reason 
to suppose that there was anything wrong with him ; his conduct 
seemed to them perfectly normal, and so much so that the action 
he had taken in the square the morning before was accepted and 
approved, | 

‘““'That’s how it should have been from the first,” the higher 
officials declared. ‘‘ If a man begins as a philanthropist he has 
to come to the same thing in the end, though he does not see that 
it was necessary from the point of view of philanthropy itself ””— 

that, at least, was the opinion at the club. They only blamed — 


THE FETE—FIRST PART 439 


him for having lost his temper. ‘“‘It ought to have been done 
more coolly, but there, he is a new man,”’ said the authorities. 
All eyes turned with equal eagerness to Yulia Mihailovna. Of 
course no one has the right to expect from me an exact account 
in regard to one point: that is a mysterious, a feminine question. 
But I only know one thing: on the evening of the previous day 
she had gone into Andrey Antonovitch’s study and was there 
with him till long after midnight. Andrey Antonovitch was 
comforted and forgiven. The husband and wife came to a 
complete understanding, everything was forgotten, and when 
at the end.of the interview Lembke went down on his knees, 
recalling with horror the final incident of the previous night, the 
exquisite hand, and after it the lips of his wife, checked the 
fervent flow of penitent phrases of the chivalrously delicate 
gentleman who was limp with emotion. Every one could see 
the happiness in her face. She walked in with an open-hearted 
air, wearing a magnificent dress. She seemed to be at the very 
pinnacle of her heart’s desires, the féte—the goal and crown of 
her diplomacy—was an accomplished fact. As they walked to 
their seats in front of the platform, the Lembkes bowed in all 
directions and responded to greetings. They were at once 
surrounded. The marshal’s wife got up to meet them. 
But at that point a horrid misunderstanding occurred; the 
orchestra, apropos of nothing, struck up a flourish, not a trium- 
phal march of any kind, but a simple flourish such as was played 
at the club when some one’s health was drunk at an official 
dinner. I know now that Lyamshin, in his capacity of steward, 
had arranged this, as though in honour of the Lembkes’ entrance. 
Of course he could always excuse it as a blunder or excessive 
zeal. . . . Alas! I did not know at the time that they no longer 
cared even to find excuses, and that all such considerations were 
from that day a thing of the past. But the flourish was not the 
end of it: in the midst of the vexatious astonishment and the 
smiles of the audience there was a sudden “ hurrah”’ from the 
end of the hall and from the gallery also, apparently in Lembke’s 
honour. ‘The hurrahs were few, but I must confess they lasted 
for some time. Yulia Mihailovna flushed, her eyes flashed. 
Lembke stood still at his chair, and turning towards the voices 
sternly and majestically scanned the audience... . They 
hastened to make him sit down. I noticed with dismay the same 
dangerous smile on his face as he had worn the morning before, 
in his wife’s drawing-room, when he stared at Stepan Trofimovitch 


440 THE POSSESSED 


before going up to him. It seemed to me that now, too, there 
was an ominous, and, worst of all, a rather comic expression on 
his countenance, the expression of a man resigned to sacrifice 
himself to satisfy his wife’s lofty aims. . . . Yulia Mihailovna 
beckoned to me hurriedly, and whispered to me to run to Kar- 
mazinov and entreat him to begin. And no sooner had I turned 
away than another disgraceful incident, much more unpleasant 
than the first, took place. 

On the platform, the empty platform, on which till that 
moment all eyes and all expectations were fastened, and where 
nothing was to be seen but a small table, a chair in front of it, and 
on the table a glass of water on a silver salver—on the empty 
platform there suddenly appeared the colossal figure of Captain 
Lebyadkin wearing a dress-coat and a white tie. I was so 
astounded I could not believe my eyes. The captain seemed 
confused and remained standing at the back of the platform. 
Suddenly there was a shout in the audience, “‘ Lebyadkin ! 
You?” The captain’s stupid red face (he was hopelessly drunk) 
expanded in a broad vacant grin at this greeting. He raised 
his hand, rubbed his forehead with it, shook his shaggy head and, 
as though making up his mind to go through with it, took two 
steps forward and suddenly went off into a series of prolonged, 
blissful, gurgling, but not loud guffaws, which made him screw 
up his eyes and set all his bulky person heaving. This spectacle 
set almost half the audience laughing, twenty people applauded. 
The serious part of the audience looked at one another gloomily ; 
it all lasted only half a minute, however. Liputin, wearing his 
steward’s rosette, ran on to the platform with two servants ; 
they carefully took the captain by both arms, while Liputin 
whispered something to him. The captain scowled, muttered 
‘* Ah, -well, if that’s it !’’ waved his hand, turned his huge back 
to the public and vanished with his escort. But a minute later 
Liputin skipped on to the platform again. He was wearing the 
sweetest of his invariable smiles, which usually suggested vinegar 
and sugar, and carried in his hands a sheet of note-paper. With 
tiny but rapid steps he came forward to the edge of the platform. 

‘““Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, addressing the public, 
“through our inadvertency there has arisen a comical mis- 
understanding which has been removed; but I’ve hopefully 
undertaken to do something at the earnest and most respectful 
request of one of our local poets. Deeply touched by the 
humane and lofty object ... in spite of his appearance... 


THE FETE—FIRST PART 44} 


the object which has brought us all together . . . to wipe away 
the tears of the poor but well-educated girls of our province .. . 
this gentleman, I mean this local poet . . . although desirous 
of preserving his incognito, would gladly have heard his poem 
read at the beginning of the ball . . . that is, I mean, of the 
matinée. Though this poem is not in the programme .. . for it 
has only been received half an hour ago . . . yet it has seemed to 
ws’’—(Us ? Whom did he mean by us? I report his confused and 
incoherent speech word for word)—“‘ that through its remarkable 
naiveté of feeling, together with its equally remarkable gaiety, the 
poem might well be read, that is, not as something serious, but 
as something appropriate to the occasion, that is to the idea. . 
especially as some lines . . . And I wanted to ask the kind 
permission of the audience.” 

*“ Read it !’’ boomed a voice at the back of the hall. 

** Then I am to read it ? ”’ 

** Read it, read it !’’ cried many voices. 

“‘ With the permission of the audience I will read it,” Liputin 
minced again, still with the same sugary smile. He still seemed 
to hesitate, and I even thought that he was rather excited. These 
people are sometimes nervous in spite of their impudence. A 
divinity student would have carried it through without winking, 
but Liputin did, after all, belong to the last generation. 

““T must say, that is, I have the honour to say by way of 
preface, that it is not precisely an ode such as used to be written 
for fétes, but is rather, so to say, a jest, but full of undoubted 
feeling, together with playful humour, and, so to say, the most 
realistic truthfulness.” 

“* Read it, read it!” 

He unfolded the paper. No one of course was in time to stop 
him. Besides, he was wearing his steward’s badge. In a 
ringing voice he declaimed : 

‘To the local governesses of the Fatherland from the poet at 
the féte : 

* Governesses all, good morrow, 
Triumph on this festive day. 
Retrograde or vowed George-Sander— 
Never mind, just frisk away !”’ 


“But that’s Lebyadkin’s! Lebyadkin’s!” cried several 
voices. There was laughter and even applause, though not from 
very many. . 


442 THE POSSESSED 


“* Teaching French to wet-nosed children, 
You are glad enough to think 
You can catch a worn-out sexton— 
Even he ts worth a wink !” 


** Hurrah! hurrah !”’ 


** But in these great days of progress, 
Ladies, to your sorrow know, 
You can’t even catch a sexton, 
If you have not got a ‘ dot’.” 


““To be sure, to be sure, that’s realism. You can’t hook a 
husband without a ‘dot’ !”’ 


“ But, henceforth, since through our feasting 
Capital has flowed from all, 
And we send you forth to conquest 
Dancing, dowried from this hall— 
Retrograde or vowed George-Sander, 
Never mind, rejoice you may, 
Yow’re a governess with a dowry, 
Spit on all and frisk away !” 


I must confess I could not believe my ears. The insolence of 
it was so unmistakable that there was no possibility of excusing 
Liputin on the ground of stupidity. Besides, Liputin was by no 
means stupid. The intention was obvious, to me, anyway; 
they seemed in a hurry to create disorder. Some lines in these 
idiotic verses, for instance the last, were such that no stupidity 
could have let them pass. Liputin himself seemed to feel that 
he had undertaken too much ; when he had achieved his exploit 
he was so overcome by his own impudence that he did not even 
leave the platform but remained standing, as though there were 
something more he wanted to say. He had probably imagined 
that it would somehow produce a different effect ; but even the 
group of ruffians who had applauded during the reading suddenly 
sank into silence, as though they, too, were overcome. What 
was silliest of all, many of them took the whole episode seriously, 
that is, did not regard the verses as a lampoon but actually 
thought it realistic and true as regards the governesses—a poem 
with a tendency, in fact. But the excessive freedom of the 
verses struck even them at last ; as for the general public they were 
not only scandalised but obviously offended. I am sure I am 
not mistaken as to the impression. Yulia Mihailovna said after- — 


THE FETE—FIRST PART 443 


wards that in another moment she would have fallen into a 
swoon. One of the most respectable old gentlemen helped his old 
wife on to her feet, and they walked out of the hall accompanied 
by the agitated glances of the audience. Who knows, the 
example might have infected others if Karmazinov himself, 
wearing a dress-coat and a white tie and carrying a manuscript 
in his hand, had not appeared on the platform at that moment. 
Yulia Mihailovna turned an ecstatic gaze at him as on her 
deliverer. . . . But I was by that time behind the scenes. I 
was in quest of Liputin. 

“You did that on purpose !’’ I said. seizing him indignantly 
by the arm. 

“‘T assure you I never thought... .”’ he began, cringing and 
lying at once, pretending to be unhappy. “‘ The verses had 
only just been brought and I thought that as an amusing 
pleasantry. . 

“You did not think anything of the sort. You can’t really 
think that stupid rubbish an amusing pleasantry ?”’ 

** Yes, I do.” 

* You are simply lying, and it wasn’t brought to you just now. 
You helped Lebyadkin to compose it yourself, yesterday very 
_ likely, to create a scandal. The last verse must have been yours, 
the part about the sexton too. Why did he come on in a dress- 
coat ? You must have meant him to read it, too, if he had not 
been drunk ?”’ 

Liputin looked at me coldly and ironically. 

‘‘ What business is it of yours?’ he asked suddenly with 
strange calm. 

‘“‘ What business is it of mine ? You are wearing the steward’s 
badge, too. . . . Where is Pyotr Stepanovitch ?”’ 

‘“‘ T don’t know, somewhere here ; why do you ask ? ” 

‘Because now I see through it. It’s simply a Hie ‘Agama 
Yulia Mihailovna so as to ruin the day by a scandal. 

Liputin looked at me askance again. 

‘‘ But what is it to you ?”’ he said, grinning. He shrugged his 
shoulders and walked away. 

It came over me with a rush. All my suspicions were con- 
firmed. ‘Till then, I had been hoping I was mistaken! What 
was Il todo? I was on the point of asking the advice of Stepan 
Trofimovitch, but he was standing before the looking-glass, 
trying on different smiles, and continually consulting a piece of 
paper on which he had notes. He had to go on immediately 


ait THE POSSESSED 


after Karmazinov, and was not in a fit state for conversation. 
Should I run to Yulia Mihailovna? But it was too soon to go 
to her : she needed a much sterner lesson to cure her of her con- 
viction that she had “a following,’ and that every one was 
“fanatically devoted’ to her. She would not have believed 
me, and would have thought I was dreaming. Besides, what 
help could she be? “ Eh,’ I thought, “ after all, what business 
is it of mine? Tl take off my badge and go home when 
tt begins.” That was my mental phrase, “when it begins”; I 
remember it. 

But [ had to go and listen to Karmazinov. Taking a last look 
round behind the scenes, I noticed that a good number of out- 
siders, even women among them, were flitting about, going in 
and out. ‘* Behind the scenes’? was rather a narrow space 
completely screened from the audience by a curtain and com- 
municating with other rooms by means of a passage. Here our 
readers were awaiting their turns. But I was struck at that 
moment by the reader who was to follow Stepan Trofimovitch. 
He, too, was some sort of professor (I don’t know to this day 
exactly what he was) who had voluntarily left some educational 
institution after a disturbance among the students, and had 
arrived in the town only a few days before. He, too, had been 
recommended to Yulia Mihailovna, and she had received him 
with reverence. I know now that he had only spent one evening 
in her company before the reading ; he had not spoken all that 
evening, had listened with an equivocal smile to the jests and the 
general tone of the company surrounding Yulia Mihailovna, 
and had made an unpleasant impression on every one by his air of 
haughtiness, and at the same time almost timorous readiness to 
take offence. It was Yulia Mihailovna herself who. had enlisted 
his services. Now he was walking from corner to corner, and, 
like Stepan Trofimovitch, was muttering to himself, though he 
looked on the ground instead of in the looking-glass. He was 
not trying on smiles, though he often smiled rapaciously. It 
was obvious that it was useless to speak to him either. He looked 
about forty, was short and bald, had a greyish beard, and was 
decently dressed. But what was most interesting about him 
was that at every turn he took he threw up his right fist, 
brandished it above his head.and suddenly brought it down 
again as though crushing an antagonist to atoms. He went 
through this by-play every moment. It made me uncomfortable. 
I hastened away to listen to Karmazinov. 


THE FETE—FIRST PART 445 


Iil 


There was a feeling in the hall that something was wrong 
again. Let me state to begin with that I have the deepest 
reverence for genius, but why do our geniuses in the decline of 
their illustrious years behave sometimes exactly like little boys ? 
What though he was Karmazinov, and came forward with as 
much dignity as five Kammerherrs rolled into one? How could 
he expect to keep an audience like ours listening for a whole hour 
toa single paper? I have observed, in fact, that however big a 
genius a man may be, he can’t monopolise the attention of an 
audience at a frivolous literary matinée for more than twenty 
minutes with impunity. The entrance of the great writer was 
received, indeed, with the utmost respect: even the severest 
elderly men showed signs of approval and interest, and the ladies 
even displayed some enthusiasm. The applause was_ brief, 
however, and somehow uncertain and not unanimous. Yet 
there was no unseemly behaviour in the back rows, till Karma- 
zinov began to speak, not that anything very bad followed then, 
but only a sort of misunderstanding. I have mentioned already 
that he had rather a shrill voice, almost feminine in fact, and at 
the same time a genuinely aristocratic lisp. He had hardly 
articulated a few words when some one had the effrontery to 
laugh aloud—probably some ignorant simpleton who knew 
nothing of the world, and was congenitally disposed to laughter. 
But there was nothing like a hostile demonstration; on the 
contrary people said “sh-h!’’ and the offender was crushed. 
But Mr. Karmazinov, with an affected air and intonation, an- 
nounced that “at first he had declined absolutely to read.” 
(Much need there was to mention it!) “There are some lines 
which come so deeply from the heart that it is impossible to utter 
them aloud, so that these holy things cannot be laid before the 
public ’’—(Why lay them then ?)—‘ but as he had been begged to 
do so, he was doing so, and as he was, moreover, laying down his 
pen for ever, and had sworn to write no more, he had written 
this last farewell; and as he had sworn never, on any induce- 
ment, to read anything in public,” and so on, and so on, all in 
that style. 

But all that would not have mattered ; every one knows what 
authors’ prefaces are like, though, I may observe, that considering 


446 THE POSSESSED 


the lack of culture of our audience and the irritability of the 
back rows, all this may have had an influence. Surely it would 
have been better to have read a little story, a short tale such as he 
had written in the past—over-elaborate, that is, and affected, but 
sometimes witty. It would have saved the situation. No, this 
was quite another story! It was a regular oration! Good 
‘heavens, what wasn’t there in it! I am positive that it would 
‘ have reduced to rigidity even a Petersburg audience, let alone ours. 
Imagine an article that would have filled some thirty pages of 
print of the most affected, aimless prattle ; and to make matters 
worse, the gentleman read it with a sort of melancholy con- 
descension as though it were a favour, so that it was almost 
insulting to the audience. The subject. . . . Who could make 
it out ? It was a sort of description of certain impressions and 
reminiscences. But of what? And about what? Though 
the leading intellects of the province did their utmost during 
the first half of the reading, they could make nothing of it, and 
they listened to the second part simply out of politeness. A 
great deal was said about love, indeed, of the love of the genius 
for some person, but I must admit it made rather an awkward 
impression. For the great writer to tell us about his first kiss 
seemed to my mind a little incongruous with his short and fat 
little figure . . . Another thing that was offensive ; these kisses 
did not occur as they do with the rest of mankind. There had 
to be a framework of gorse (it had to be gorse or some such plant 
that one must look up in a flora) and there had to be a tint of purple 
in the sky, such as no mortal had ever observed before, or if some 
people had seen it, they had never noticed it, but he seemed to 
say, ““I have seen it and am describing it to you, fools, as if it 
were a most ordinary thing.’’ The tree under which the interest- 
ing couple sat had of course to be of an orange colour. They 
were sitting somewhere in Germany. Suddenly they see Pompey 
or Cassius on the eve of a battle, and both are penetrated by a 
chill of ecstasy. Some wood-nymph squeaked in the bushes. 
Gluck played the violin among the reeds. The title of the piece 
he was playing was given in full, but no one knew it, so that one 
would have had to look it up in a musical dictionary. Mean- 
while a fog came on, such a fog, such a fog, that it was more like 
a million pillows than a fog. And suddenly everything dis- 
appears and the great genius is crossing the frozen Volga in a 
thaw. Two and a half pages are filled with the crossing, and 
yet he falls through the ice. The genius is drowning—you 


THE FETE—FIRST PART 447 


imagine he was drowned? Not a bit of it; this was simply in 
order that when he was drowning and at his last gasp, he might 
catch sight of a bit of ice, the size of a pea, but pure and crystal 
“as a frozen tear,” and in that tear was reflected Germany, or 
more accurately the sky of Germany, and its iridescent sparkle 
recalled to his mind the very tear which “‘ dost thou remember, 
fell from thine eyes when we were sitting under that emerald 
tree, and thou didst cry out joyfully: ‘There is no crime!’ 
‘No,’ I said through my tears, ‘ but if that is so, there are no 
righteous either.’ We sobbed and parted for ever.’’ She went 
offi somewhere to the sea coast, while he went to visit some caves, 
and then he descends and descends and descends for three years 
under Suharev Tower in Moscow, and suddenly in the very 
bowels of the earth, he finds in a cave a lamp, and before the 
lamp a hermit. The hermit is praying. The genius leans 
against a little barred window, and suddenly hears a sigh. Do 
you suppose it was the hermit sighing? Much hecares about the 
hermit! Nota bit of it, this sigh simply reminds him of her first 
sigh, thirty-seven years before, “‘in Germany, when, dost thou 
remember, we sat under an agate tree and thou didst say to 
me, ‘Why love? See ochra is growing all around and I love 
thee ; but the ochra will cease to grow, and I shall cease to love.’ ”’ 
Then the fog comes on again, Hoffman appears on the scene, the 
wood-nymph whistles a tune from Chopin, and suddenly out 
of the fog appears Ancus Marcius over the roofs of Rome, wearing 
alaurel wreath. ‘‘A chill of ecstasy ran down our backs and we 
parted for ever ’’—and so on and so on. 

Perhaps I am not reporting it quite right and don’t know how to 
report it, but the drift of the babble was something of that sort. 
And after all, how disgraceful this passion of our great intellects 
for jesting in a superior way really is! The great European 
philosopher, the great man of science, the inventor, the martyr’ 
—all these who labour and are heavy laden, are to the great 
Russian genius no more than so many cooks in his kitchen. He 
is the master and they come to him, eap in hand, awaiting orders. 
It is true he jeers superciliously at Russia too, and there is nothing 
he likes better than exhibiting the bankruptcy of Russia in every 
_ relation before the great minds of Europe, but as regards himself, 
no, he is at a higher level than all the great minds of Europe ; 
they are only material for his jests. He takes another man’s 
idea, tacks on to itits antithesis, and the epigram is made. There 
is such a thing as crime, there is no such thing as crime ; there is 


448 THE POSSESSED 


no such thing as justice, there are no just men; atheism, 
Darwinism, the Moscow bells. . . . But alas, he no longer believes 
in the Moscow bells; Rome, laurels. . . . But he has no belief in 
laurels even. .. . We have a conventional attack of Byronic 
spleen, a grimace from Heine, something of Petchorin—and 
the machine goes on rolling, whistling, at full speed. “‘ But you 
may praise me, you may praise me, that I like extremely ; it’s 
only in a manner of speaking that I lay down the pen; I shall 
bore you three hundred times more, you'll grow weary of reading 
BAC wes? 

Of course it did not end without trouble; but the worst of it 
was that it was his own doing. People had for some time begun 
shuffling their feet, blowing their noses, coughing, and doing . 
everything that people do when a lecturer, whoever he may be, 
keeps an audience for longer than twenty minutes at a literary 
matinée. But the genius noticed nothing of all this. He went 
on lisping and mumbling, without giving a thought to the 
audience, so that every one began to wonder. Suddenly in a 
back row a solitary but loud voice was heard : 

‘“* Good Lord, what nonsense ! ”’ | 

The exclamation escaped involuntarily, and I am sure was 
not intended as a demonstration. The man was simply worn 
out. But Mr. Karmazinov stopped, looked sarcastically at the 
audience, and suddenly lisped with the deportment of an 
aggrieved kammerherr. 

‘“‘T’m afraid I’ve been boring you dreadfully, gentlemen ? ”’ 

That was his blunder, that he was the first to speak; for 
provoking an answer in this way he gave an opening for the 
rabble to speak, too, and even legitimately, so to say, while if 
he had restrained himself, people would have gone on blowing 
their noses and it would have passed off somehow. Perhaps he 
expected applause in response to his question, but there was 
no sound of applause; on the contrary, every one seemed to 
subside and shrink back in dismay. 

“You never did see Ancus Marcius, that’s all brag,” cried a 
voice that sounded full of irritation and even nervous exhaus- 
tion. 

‘* Just so,’’ another voice agreed at once. ‘“‘ There are no such 
things as ghosts nowadays, nothing but natural science. Look it 
up in a scientific book.” 

‘Gentlemen, there was nothing I expected less rents such 


objections,” said Karmazinov, extremely surprised. The great © 


THE FETE—FIRST PART 449 


genius had completely lost touch with his Fatherland in Karls- 
ruhe. 

‘“‘ Nowadays it’s outrageous to say that the world stands on 
three fishes,’ a young lady snapped out suddenly. ‘‘ You can’t 
have gone down to the hermit’s cave, Karmazinov. And who 
talks about hermits nowadays ?”’ 

‘“*Gentlemen, what surprises me most of all is that you take 
it all so seriously. However . .. however, you are perfectly 
right. No one has greater respect for truth and realism than 
L haven?’ 

Though he smiled ironically he was tremendously overcome. 
His face seemed to express : “‘ I am not the sort of man you think, 
I am on your side, only praise me, praise me more, as much as 
possible, I like it extremely. . 

‘‘ Gentlemen,” he cried, completely mortified at last, “‘I see 
that my poor poem is quite out of place here. And, indeed, I 
am out of place here myself, I think.’ 

“You threw at the crow and you hit the cow,’’ some fool, 
probably drunk, shouted at the top of his voice, and of course no 
notice ought to have been taken of him. It is true there was a 
sound of disrespectful laughter. 

“A cow, you say ?”’ Karmazinov caught it up at once, his 
voice grew shriller and shriller. “As for crows and cows, 
gentlemen, I willrefrain. I’ve too much respect for any audience 
to permit myself comparisons, however harmless; but I did 
think, ..... 

‘‘ You'd better be careful, sir,’ some one shouted from a back 
row. | 

‘* But I had supposed that laying aside my pen and saying 
farewell to my readers, I should be heard . . .”’ 

‘‘ No, no, we want to hear you, we want to,’ a few voices from 
the front row plucked up spirit to exclaim at last. 

‘‘ Read, read!” several enthusiastic ladies’ voices chimed in, 
and at last there was an outburst of applause, sparse and feeble, 
it is true. 

‘Believe me, Karmazinov, every one looks on it as an 
honour . . .”’ the marshal’s wife herself could not resist saying. 

“Mr. Karmazinov!”’ cried a fresh young voice in the back 
‘of the hall suddenly. It was the voice of a very young teacher 
from the district school who had only lately come among us, an 
excellent young man, quiet and gentlemanly. He stood up 
in his place. ‘‘ Mr. Karmazinov, if 1 had the happiness to fall in 

Pe 


450 THE POSSESSED 


love as you have described to us, I really shouldn’t refer to my 
love in an article intended for public reading. . . .” 

He flushed red all over. 

“‘ Ladies and gentlemen,’’ cried Karmazinov, “ I have finished. 
I will omit the end and withdraw. Only allow me to read the 
six last lines : 

‘‘ Yes, dear reader, farewell!’’ he began at once from the 
manuscript without sitting down again in his chair. “ Farewell, 
reader; I do not greatly insist on our parting friends; what 
need to trouble you, indeed. You may abuse me, abuse me as 
you will if it affords you any satisfaction. But best of all if 
we forget one another for ever. And if you all, readers, were 
suddenly so kind as to fall on your knees and begin begging me 
with tears, ‘ Write, oh, write for us, Karmazinov—for the sake of 
Russia, for the sake of posterity, to win laurels,’ even then I would 
answer you, thanking you, of course, with every courtesy, ‘No, 
we've had enough of one another, dear fellow-countrymen, 
merci! It’s time we took our separate ways!’ Merct, merci, 
merce |”? | 

Karmazinov bowed ceremoniously, and, as red as though he 
had been cooked, retired behind the scenes. 

““ Nobody would go down on their knees ; a wild idea!” 

** What conceit!” 

“ That’s only humour,’ some one more reasonable suggested. 

“* Spare me your humour.” 

**T call it impudence, gentlemen !”’ 

** Well, he’s finished now, anyway !”’ 

*“ Ech, what a dull show ! ” 

But all these ignorant exclamations in the back rows (though 
they were confined to the back rows) were drowned in applause 
from the other half of the audience. They called for Karmazinov. 
Several ladies with Yulia Mihailovna and the marshal’s wife 
crowded round the platform. In Yulia Mihailovna’s hands 
was a gorgeous laurel wreath resting on another wreath of living 
roses on a white velvet cushion. 

** Laurels !’? Karmazinov pronounced with a subtle and rather 
sarcastic smile. “‘I am touched, of course, and accept with real 
emotion this wreath prepared beforehand, but still fresh and 
unwithered, but I assure you, mesdames, that I have 
suddenly become so realistic that I feel laurels would in this 
age be far more appropriate in the hands of a skilful cook than 
in mine.... iy 


THE FETE—FIRST PART 451 


“ Well, a cook is more useful,”’ cried the divinity student, who 
had been at the “‘ meeting ’’ at Virginsky’s. 

There was some disorder. In many rows people jumped up 
to get a better view of the presentation of the laurel wreath. 

“Td give another three roubles for a cook this minute,”’ 
another voice assented loudly, too loudly; insistently, in 
fact. 

“So would I.” 

66 And 1. 29 

“Is it possible there’s no buffet? .. . 

“Gentlemen, it’s simply a swindle. . . 

It must be admitted, however, that all these unbridled gentle- 
men still stood in awe of our higher officials and of the police 
superintendent, who was present in the hall. Ten minutes later 
all had somehow got back into their places, but there was not 
the same good order as before. And it was into this incipient 
chaos that poor Stepan Trofimovitch was thrust. 


99 


eg 


IV 


I ran out to him behind the scenes once more, and had time 
to warn him excitedly that in my opinion the game was up, that 
he had better not appear at all, but had better go home at once 
on the excuse of his usual ailment, for instance, and I would take 
off my badge and come with him. At that instant he was on his 
way to the platform ; he stopped suddenly, and haughtily looking 
me up and down he pronounced solemnly : 

** What grounds have you, sir, for thinking me capable of suck 
baseness ? ”’ 

I drew back. I was as sure as twice two make four that he 
would not get off without a catastrophe. Meanwhile, as I stood 
utterly dejected, I saw moving before me again the figure of the 
professor, whose turn it was to appear after Stepan Trofimovitch, 
and who kept lifting up his fist and bringing it down again with 
aswing. He kept walking up and down, absorbed in himself and 
muttering something to himself with a diabolical but triumphant 
smile. I somehow almost unintentionally went up to him. I 
don’t know what induced me to meddle again. 

“Do you know,” I said, ‘‘ judging from many examples, if a 
lecturer keeps an audience for more than twenty minutes it 


452 THE POSSESSED 


won’t go on listening. No celebrity is able to hold his own for 
half an hour.” 

He stopped short and seemed almost quivering with resent- 
ment. Infinite disdain was expressed in his countenance. 

‘Don’t trouble yourself,” he muttered contemptuously and 
walked on. At that moment Stepan Trofimovitch’s voice rang 
out in the hall. 

‘Oh, hang you all,” I thought, and ran to the hall. 

Stepan Trofimovitch took his seat in the lecturer’s chair in 
the midst of the still persisting disorder. He was greeted by the 
first rows with looks which were evidently not over-friendly. (Of 
late, at the club, people almost seemed not to like him, and treated 
him with much less respect than formerly.) But it was some- 
thing to the good that he was not hissed. I had had a strange 
idea in my head ever since the previous day: I kept fancying 
that he would be received with hisses as soon as he appeared. 
They scarcely noticed him, however, in the disorder. What 
could that man hope for if Karmazinov was treated like this ? 
He was pale; it was ten years since he had appeared before an 
audience. From his excitement and from all that I knew so well 
in him, it was clear to me that he, too, regarded his present 
appearance on the platform as a turning-point of his fate, or 
something of the kind. That was just what I was afraid of. 
The man was dear to me. And what were my feelings when he 
opened his lips and I heard his first phrase ? 

“* Ladies and gentlemen,’’ he pronounced suddenly, as though 
resolved to venture everything, though in an almost breaking 
voice. “Ladies and gentlemen! Only this morning there lay 
before me one of the illegal leaflets that have been distributed 
here lately, and Lasked myself for the hundredth time, ‘ Wherein 
lies its secret ?’ ”’ 

The whole hall became instantly still, all looks were turned to 
him, some with positive alarm. There was no denying, he knew 
how to secure their interest from the first word. Heads were 
thrust out from behind the scenes; Liputin and Lyamshin 
listened greedily. Yulia Mihailovna waved to me again. 

‘“‘Stop him, whatever happens, stop him,’’ she whispered in 
agitation. I could only shrug my shoulders : how could one stop 
a man resolved to venture everything ? Alas, I understood 
whas was in Stepan Trofimovitch’s mind. 

“Ha ha, the manifestoes !”’ was whispered in the audience; the 
whole hall was stirred. y 


THE FETE—FIRST PART 453 


*“‘ Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve solved the whole mystery. The 
whole secret of their effect lies in their stupidity.” (His eyes 
flashed.) ‘“ Yes, gentlemen, if this stupidity were intentional, 
pretended and calculated, oh, that would be a stroke of genius! 
But we must do them justice: they don’t pretend anything. 
It’s the barest, most simple-hearted, most shallow stupidity. 
C’est la bétise dans son essence la plus pure, quelque chose comme 
un simple chimique. If it were expressed ever so little more 
cleverly, every one would see at once the poverty of this shallow 
stupidity. But as it is, every one is left wondering: no one can 
believe that it is such elementary stupidity. ‘It’s impossible 
that there’s nothing more in it,’ every one says to himself and 
tries to find the sercet of it, sees a mystery in it, tries to read 
between the lines—the effect is attained! Oh, never has 
stupidity been so solemnly rewarded, though it has so often 
deserved it. ... For, en parenthése, stupidity is of as much 
service to humanity as the loftiest genius. . . .”’ 

*““ Epigram of 1840’? was commented, in a very modest voice, 
however, but it was followed by a general outbreak of noise and 
uproar. 

‘Ladies and gentlemen, hurrah! I propose a toast to 
stupidity !”’ cried Stepan Trofimovitch, defying the audience in a 
perfect frenzy. 

I ran up on the pretext of pouring out some water for him. 

“Stepan Trofimovitch, leave off, Yulia Mihailovna entreats 


you to.” 
““ No, you leave me alone, idle young man,”’ he cried out at me 
at the top of his voice. I ran away. “‘ Messieurs,’”’ he went 


on, “why this excitement, why the outcries of indignation I 
hear? I have come forward with an olive branch. I bring 
you the last word, for in this business I have the last word—and 
we shall be reconciled.”’ 

** Down with him !”’ shouted some. 

‘** Hush, let him speak, let him have his say !”’ yelled another 
section. The young teacher was particularly excited; having 
once brought himself to speak he seemed now unable to be silent. 

‘“‘ Messieurs, the last word in this business—is forgiveness. I, 
an old man at the end of my life, I solemnly declare that the 
spirit of life breathes in us still, and there is still a living strength 
in the young generation. The enthusiasm of the youth of to- 
day is as pure and bright as in our age. All that has happened 
is a change of aim, the replacing of one beauty by another ! 


454 THE POSSESSED 


The whole difficulty lies in the question which is more beautiful 
Shakespeare or boots, Raphael or petroleum ?¢ ” 

“<Tt’s treachery !’’ growled some. 

‘“‘ Compromising questions ! ” 

“© Agent provocateur !”’ 

‘“* But I maintain,’ Stepan Trofimovitch shrilled at the utmost 
pitch of excitement, “I maintain that Shakespeare and Raphael 
are more precious than the emancipation of the serfs, more precious 
than Nationalism, more precious than Socialism, more precious 
than the young generation, more precious than chemistry, more 
precious than almost all humanity because they are the fruit, 
the real fruit of all humanity and perhaps the highest fruit that 
can be. A form of beauty already attained, but for the attaining 
of which I would not perhaps consent to live. . . . Oh, heavens!” 
he cried, clasping his hands, “‘ ten years ago I said the same 
thing from the platform in Petersburg, exactly the same thing, 
in the same words, and in just the same way they did not under- 
stand it, they laughed and hissed as now; shallow people, what 
is lacking in you that you cannot understand ? But let me tell 
you, let me tell you, without the English, life is still possible for 
humanity, without Germany, life is possible, without the Russians 
it is only too possible, without science, without bread, life is 
possible—only without beauty it is impossible, for there will 
be nothing left in the world. 'That’s the secret at the bottom of 
everything, that’s what history teaches! Even science would 
not exist a moment without beauty—do you know that, you 
who laugh—it will sink into bondage, you won’t invent a nail 
even! . . I won’t yield an inch!”’ he shouted absurdly in con- 
fusion, and with all his might banged his fist on the table. 

But all the while that he was shrieking senselessly and in- 
coherently, the disorder in the hall increased. Many people 
jumped up from their seats, some dashed forward, nearer to the 
platform. It all happened much more quickly than I describe 
it, and there was no time to take steps, perhaps no wish to, 
either. 

“Tt’s all right for you, with everything found for you, you 
pampered creatures !”’ the same divinity student bellowed at the 
foot of the platform, grinning with relish at Stepan Trofimovitch, 
who noticed it and darted to the very edge of the platform. 

‘“‘ Haven’t I, haven’t I just declared that the enthusiasm of 
the young generation is as pure and bright as it was, and thatitis | 
coming to grief through being deceived only in the forms of 


THE FETE—FIRST PART 455 


beauty! Isn’t that enough for you? And if you consider that 

he who proclaims this is a father crushed and insulted, can 

one—oh, shallow hearts—can one rise to greater heights of 

impartiality and fairness? ... Ungrateful... unjust... . 

Why, why can’t you be reconciled !”’ 

And he burst into hysterical sobs. He wiped away his drop- 
ping tears with his fingers. His shoulders and breast were 
heaving with sobs. He was lost to everything in the world. 

A perfect panic came over the audience, almost all got up from 
their seats. Yulia Mihailovna, too, jumped up quickly, seizing 
her husband by the arm and pulling him uptoo. . . . Thescene 
was beyond all belief. 

*“ Stepan Trofimovitch ! ” the divinity student roared gleefully. 
“ There’s Fedka the convict wandering about the town and the 
neighbourhood, escaped from prison. He is a robber and has 
recently committed another murder. Allow me to ask you: 
if you had not sold him as a recruit fifteen years ago to pay a 
gambling debt, that is, more simply, lost him at cards, tell me, 
would he have got into prison? Would he have cut men’s 
throats now, in his struggle for existence ? What do you say, 
Mr. Austhete ? ”’ 

_ I decline to describe the scene that followed. To begin with 

there was a furious volley of applause. The applause did not 

come from all—probably from some fifth part of the audience— 
but they applauded furiously. The rest of the public made for 
the exit, but as the applauding part of the audience kept pressing 
forward towards the platform, there was a regular block. The 
ladies screamed, some of the girls began to cry and asked to go 
home. Lembke, standing up by his chair, kept gazing wildly 
about him. Yulia Mihailovna completely lost her head—for 
the first time during her career amongst us. As for Stepan 

Trofimovitch, for the first moment he seemed literally crushed 

by the divinity student’s words, but he suddenly raised 

his arms as though holding them out above the public and 
elled : 

van I shake the dust from off my feet and I curse you. ... It’s 

the end, the end... .” 

_. And turning, he ran behind the scenes, waving his hands 
menacingly. 
‘‘He has insulted the audience! ... Verhovensky!”’’ the 

angry section roared. They even wanted to rush in pursuit of 

him. It was impossible to appease them, at the moment, any 


456 THE POSSESSED 


way, and—a final catastrophe broke like a bomb on the assembly 
and exploded in its midst : the third reader, the maniac who kept 
waving his fist behind the scenes, suddenly ran on to the platform. 

He looked like a perfect madman. With a broad, triumphant 
smnile, full of boundless self-confidence, he looked round at the 
agitated hall and he seemed to be delighted at the disorder. 
He was not in the least disconcerted at having to speak in such 
an uproar, on the contrary, he was obviously delighted. This 
was so obvious that it attracted attention at once. 

‘‘What’s this now ?”’ people were heard asking. “‘ Whois this ? 
Sh-h! What does he want to say ?”’ 

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ the maniac shouted with all his 
might, standing at the very edge of the platform and speaking with 
almost as shrill, feminine a voice as Karmazinov’s, but without the 
aristocratic lisp. ‘‘ Ladies and gentlemen! ‘Twenty years ago, 
on the eve of war with half Europe, Russia was regarded as an 
ideal country by officials of all ranks! Literature was in the 
service of the censorship ; military drill was all that was taught 
at the universities ; the troops were trained like a ballet, and the 
peasants paid the taxes and were mute under the lash of serfdom. 
Patriotism meant the wringing of bribes from the quick and the 
dead. Those who did not take bribes were looked upon as rebels 
because they disturbed the general harmony. ‘The birch copses 
were extirpated in support of discipline. Europe trembled... . 
But never in the thousand years of its senseless existence had 
Russia sunk to such ignominy... .” 

He raised his fist, waved it ecstatically and menacingly over 
his head and suddenly brought it down furiously, as though 
pounding an adversary to powder. A frantic yell rose from the © 
whole hall, there was a deafening roar of applause ; almost half 
the audience was applauding: their enthusiasm was excusable. 
Russia was being put toshame publicly, before every one. Who 
could fail to roar with delight ? 

“This is the real thing! Come, this is something like! 
Hurrah! Yes, this is none of your esthetics!” 

The maniac went on ecstatically : 

“Twenty years have passed since then. Universities have 
been opened and multiplied. Military drill has passed into a 
legend ; officers are too few by thousands, the railways have 
eaten up all the capital.and have covered Russia as with a spider’s 
web, so that in another fifteen years one will perhaps get some- 
where. Bridges are rarely on fire, and fires in towns occur only at | 


THE FETE—FIRST PART 457 


regular intervals, in turn, at the proper season. In the law courts 
judgments are as wise as Solomon’s, and the jury only take bribes 
through the struggle for existence, to escape starvation. The 
serfs are free, and flog one another instead of being flogged by 
the land-owners. Seas and oceans of vodka are consumed 
to support the budget, and in Novgorod, opposite the ancient 
and useless St. Sophia, there has been solemnly put up a colossal 
bronze globe to celebrate a thousand years of disorder and con- 
fusion; Europe scowls and begins to be uneasy again. . . 
Fifteen years of reforms! And yet never even in the most 
grotesque periods of its madness has Russia sunk . . .” 

The last words could not be heard in the roar of the crowd. 
One could see him again raise his arm and bring it down triumph- 
antly again. Enthusiasm was beyond all bounds: people 
yelled; clapped their hands, even some of the ladies shouted : 
*‘ Enough, you can’t beat that !”’ Some might have been drunk. 
The orator scanned them all and seemed revelling in his own 
triumph. I caught a glimpse of Lembke in indescribable excite- 
ment, pointing something out to somebody. Yulia Mihailovna, 
with a pale face, said something in haste to the prince, who had 
run up toher. But at that moment a group of six men, officials 
more or less, burst on to the platform, seized the orator and 
dragged him behind the scenes. I can’t understand how he 
managed to tear himself away from them, but he did escape, 
darted up to the edge of the platform again and succeeded in 
shouting again, at the top of his voice, waving his fist : 

‘* But never has Russia sunk . . .” 

But he was dragged away again. I saw some fifteen men dash 
behind the scenes to rescue him, not crossing the platform but 
breaking down the light screen at the sideof it. . . . I sawafter- 
wards, though I could hardly believe my eyes, the girl student 
(Virginsky’s sister) leap on to the platform with the same roll 
under her arm, dressed as before, as plump and rosy as ever, 
surrounded by two or three women and two or three men, and 
accompanied by her mortal enemy, the schoolboy. I even 
caught the phrase : 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve come to call attention to the 
ais ae of poor students and to rouse them to a a0 
protest . 

But I ran away. Hiding my badge in my pocket I made my 
way from the house into the street by back passages which I 
knew of. First of all, of course, I went to Stepan Trofimovitch’s. 


CHAPTER, II 
THE END OF THE FETE 
I 


HE would not see me. He had shut himself up and was writing. 
At my repeated knocks and appeals he answered through the door: 

“My friend, I have finished everything. Who can ask any- 
thing more of me ?”’ 

‘“ You haven’t finished anything, you’ve only helped to make 
a mess of the whole thing. For God’s sake, no epigrams, Stepan 
Trofimovitch! Open the door. We must take steps; they 
may still come and insult you. .. .” 

I thought myself entitled to be particularly severe and even 
rigorous. I was afraid he might be going to do something still 
more mad. But to my surprise I met an extraordinary firmness. 

‘Don’t be the first to insult me then. I thank you for the 
past, but I repeat ve done with all men, good and bad. I am 
writing to Darya Pavlovna, whom I’ve forgotten so unpardonably 
till now. You may take it to her to-morrow, if you like, now 
merct.” 

‘Stepan Trofimovitch, I assure you that the matter is more 
serious than you think. Do you think that you’ve crushed 
some one there? You’ve pulverised no one, but have broken 
yourself to pieces like an empty bottle.’’ (Oh, I was coarse and 
discourteous ; I remember it with regret.) ‘‘ You’ve absolutely 
no reason to write to Darya Pavlovna ... and what will you 
do with yourself without me ? What do you understand about 
practical life? I expect you are plotting something else ? 
You'll simply come to grief again if you go plotting something 
mMoresiiais a'/ 

He rose and came close up to the door. 

‘““You’ve not been long with them, but you’ve caught the 
infection of their tone and language. Diew vous pardonne, mon 
ami, et Dieu vous garde. But I’ve always seen in you the germs 
of delicate feeling, and you will get over it perhaps—aprés le 
temps, of course, like all of us Russians. As for what you say 
about my impracticability, Pll remind you of a recent idea of 


mine: a whole mass of people in Russia do nothing whatever but 
458 


THE END OF THE FRTE 459 


attack other people’s impracticability with the utmost fury and 
with the tiresome persistence of flies in the summer, accusing 
every one of it except themselves Cher, remember that I am 
excited, and don’t distress me. Once more merci for everything, 
and let us part like Karmazinov and the public; that is, let us 
forget each other with as much generosity as we can. He was 
posing in begging his former readers so earnestly to forget him ; 
quant a mot, | am not so conceited, and I rest my hopes on the 
youth of your inexperienced heart. How should you remember a 
useless old man for long? ‘ Live more,’ my friend, as Nastasya 
wished me on my last name-day (ces pauvres gens ont quelquefois 
des mots charmants et pleins de philosophic). 1 do not wish you 
much happiness—it will bore you. I do not wish you trouble 
either, but, following the philosophy of the peasant, I will 
repeat simply ‘live more’ and try not to be much bored; this 
useless wish I add from myself. Well, good-bye, and good-bye 
for good. Don’t stand at my door, I will not open it.” 

He went away and I could get nothing more out of him. In 
spite of his ‘excitement,’ he spoke smoothly, deliberately, 
with weight, obviously trying to be impressive. Of course he 
was rather vexed with me and was avenging himself indirectly, 
possibly even for the yesterday’s “‘ prison carts” and “‘ floors that 
give way.” His tears in public that morning, in spite of a 
triumph of a sort, had put him, he knew, in rather a comic 
position, and there never was a man more solicitous of dignity 
and punctilio in his relations with his friends than Stepan 
Trofimovitch. Oh, I don’t blame him. But this fastidiousness 
and irony which he preserved in spite of all shocks reassured me 
at the time. A man who was so little different from his ordinary 
self was, of course, not in the mood at that moment for anything 
tragic or extraordinary. So I reasoned at the time, and, heavens, 
what a mistake I made! I left too much out of my reckoning. 

In anticipation of events I will quote the few first lines of the 
letter to Darya Pavlovna, which she actually received the 
following day : 


“Mon enfant, my hand trembles, but I’ve done with every- 
thing. You were not present at my last struggle ; you did not 
come to that matinée, and you did well to stay away. But you 
will be told that in our Russia, which has grown so poor in men of 
character, one man had the courage to stand up and, in spite of 
deadly menaces showered on him from all sides, to tell the fools 


460 THE POSSESSED 


the truth, that is, that they are fools. Oh, ce sont—des pauvres 
petits vaurtens et rien de plus, des petits—fools—voila le mot / 
The die is cast ; I am going from this town for ever and I know 
not whither. Every one I loved has turned from me. But you, 
you are a pure and naive creature ; you, a gentle being whose life 
has been all but linked with mine at the will of a capricious and 
imperious heart ; you who looked at me perhaps with contempt 
when I shed weak tears on the eve of our frustrated marriage ; 
you, who cannot in any case look on me except as a comic figure 
—for you, for you is the last cry of my heart, for you my last duty, 
for you alone! I cannot leave you for ever thinking of me as an 
ungrateful fool, a churlish egoist, as probably a cruel and ungrate- 
ful heart—whom, alas, I cannot forget—is every day describing 
me to you... .” 


And so on and so on, four large pages. 

Answering his “‘I won’t open” with three bangs with my 
fist on the door, and shouting after him that I was sure he would 
send Nastasya for me three times that day, but I would not 
come, I gave him up and ran off to Yulia Mihailovna. 


II 


There I was the witness of a revolting scene: the poor woman 
was deceived to her face, and I could do nothing. Indeed, what 
could I say to her? I had had time to reconsider things a little 
and reflect that I had nothing to go upon but certain feelings 
and suspicious presentiments. I found her in tears, almost in 
hysterics, with compresses of eau-de-Cologne and a glass of 
water. Before her stood Pyotr Stepanovitch, who talked with- 
out stopping, and the prince, who held his tongue as though it 
had been under a lock. With tears and lamentations she 
reproached Pyotr Stepanovitch for his ‘‘ desertion.” I was 
struck at once by the fact that she ascribed the whole failure, 
the whole ignominy of the matinée, everything in fact, to 
Pyotr Stepanovitch’s absence. 

In him I observed an important change: he seemed a shade 
too anxious, almost serious. As a rule he never seemed serious ; 
he was always laughing, even when he was angry, and he was 
often angry. Ob, he was angry now! He was speaking 
coarsely, carelessly, with vexation and impatience. He said 
that he had been taken ill at Gaganov’s lodging, where he had 


THE END OF THE FETE 461 


happened to go early in the morning. Alas, the poor woman 
was so anxious to be deceived again! The chief question which 
I found being discussed was whether the ball, that is, the whole 
second half of the féte, should or should not take place. Yulia 
Mihailovna could not be induced to appear at the ball “‘ after 
the insults she had received that morning’’; in other words, 
her heart was set on being compelled to do so, and by him, by 
Pyotr Stepanovitch. She looked upon him as an oracle, and 
i believe if he had gone away she would have taken to her bed 
at once. But he did not want to go away; he was desperately 
anxious that the ball should take place and that Yulia Mihailovna 
should be present at it. 

‘““Come, what is there to cry about ? Are you set on having 
a scene? On venting your anger on somebody ? Well, vent 
it on me; only make haste about it, for the time is passing and 
you must make up your mind. We made a mess of it with the 
matinée; we'll pick up on the ball. Here, the prince thinks as 
I do. Yes, if it hadn’t been for the prince, how would things 
have ended there ? ”’ 

The prince had been at first opposed to the ball (that is, opposed 
to Yulia Mihailovna’s appearing at it; the ball was bound to go 
on in any case), but after two or three such references to his 
opinion he began little by little to grunt his acquiescence. 

I was surprised too at the extraordinary rudeness of Pyotr 
Stepanovitch’s tone. Oh, I scout with indignation the con- 
temptible slander which was spread later of some supposed 
liaison between Yulia Mihailovna and Pyotr Stepanovitch. 
There was no such thing, nor could there be. He gained his 
ascendency over her from the first only by encouraging her in 
her dreams of influence in society and in the ministry, by entering 
into her plans, by inventing them for her, and working upon her 
with the grossest flattery. He had got her completely into his 
toils and had become as necessary to her as the air she breathed. 
Seeing me, she cried, with flashing eyes : 

“Here, ask him. He kept by my side all the while, just like 
the prince did. Tell me, isn’t it plain that it was all a pre- 
concerted plot, a base, designing plot to damage Andrey Antono- 
- vitch and me as much as possible ? Oh, they had arranged it 
beforehand. They hada plan! It’s a party, a regular party.” 

“You are exaggerating as usual. You’ve always some romantic 
notion in your head. ButIam glad tosee Mr....” (He pretended 
to have forgotten my name.) “ He’ll give us his opinion.” 


462 THE POSSESSED 


‘* My opinion,” I hastened to put in, “is the same as Yulia 
Mihailovna’s. The plot is only too evident. I have brought 
you these ribbons, Yulia Mihailovna. Whether the ball is to 
take place or not is not my business, for it’s not in my power 
to decide ; but my part as steward is over. Forgive my warmth, 
but I can’t act against the dictates of common sense and my own 
convictions.”’ | 

‘“You hear! You hear!’ She clasped her hands. 

‘“‘T hear, and I tell you this.”’?’ He turned to me. “TI think 
you must have eaten something which has made you all delirious. 
To my thinking, nothing has happened, absolutely nothing but 
what has happened before and is always liable to happen in 
this town. A plot, indeed! It was an ugly failure, disgrace- 
fully stupid. But where’s the plot? A plot against Yulia 
Mihailovna, who has spoiled them and protected them and 
fondly forgiven them all their schoolboy pranks! Yulia 
Mihailovna! What have I been hammering into you for the 
last month continually ? What did I warn you? What did 
you want with all these people—what did you want with them ? 
What induced you to mix yourself up with these fellows ? What 
was the motive, what was the object of it ? To unite society ? 
But, mercy on us! will they ever be united ? ” | 

‘When did you warn me? On the contrary, you approved 
of it, you even insisted on it. . . . I confess I am so surprised. 
. . . You brought all sorts of strange people to see me yourself.” 

** On the contrary, I opposed you; I did not approve of it. 
As for bringing them to see you, I certainly did, but only after 
they’d got in by dozens and only of late to make up ‘ the literary 
quadrille ’°—we couldn’t get on without these rogues. Only I 
don’t mind betting that a dozen or two more of the same sort 
were let in without tickets to-day.” 

** Not a doubt of it,’’ I agreed. 

“There, you see, you are agreeing already. Think what the 
tone has been lately here—I mean in this wretched town. It’s 
nothing but insolence, impudence; it’s been a crying scandal 
all the time. And who’s been encouraging it ? Who’s screened 
it by her authority ? Who’s upset them all? Who has made 
all the small fry huffy ? All their family secrets are caricatured 
in your album. Didn’t you pat them on the back, your poets 
and caricaturists ? Didn’t you let Lyamshin kiss your hand ? 
Didn’t a divinity student abuse an actual state councillor in 
your presence and spoil his daughter’s dress with his tarred 


THE END OF THE FETE 463 


boots ? Now, can you wonder that the public is set against 
you ?” 

* But that’s all your doing, yours! Oh, my goodness! ”’ 

‘*“No, I warned you. We quarrelled. Do you hear, we 
quarrelled ? ” 

‘* Why, you are lying to my face! ”’ 

** Of course it’s easy for you to say that. You need a victim 
to vent your wrath on. Well, vent it on meas I’ve said already. 
I'd better appeal to you, Mr... .” (He was still unable to 
recall my name.) ‘“‘ We’ll reckon on our fingers. I maintain 
that, apart from Liputin, there was nothing preconcerted, 
nothing! JI will prove it, but first let us analyse Liputin. He 
came forward with that fool Lebyadkin’s verses. Do you 
maintain that that was a plot? But do you know it might 
simply have struck Liputin as a clever thing to do. Seriously, 
seriously. He simply came forward with the idea of making 
every one laugh and entertaining them—his protectress Yulia 
Mihailovna first of all. That was all. Don’t you believe it ? 
Isn’t that in keeping with all that has been going on here for 
the last month? Do you want me to tell the whole truth ? 
I declare that under other circumstances it might have gone 
off all right. It was a coarse joke—well, a bit strong, perhaps ; 
but it was amusing, you know, wasn’t it ?” 

‘“What! You think what Liputin did was clever?” Yulia 
Mihailovna cried in intense indignation. ‘‘ Such stupidity, such 
tactlessness, so contemptible, so mean! It was intentional ! 
Oh, you are saying it on purpose! I believe after that you are 
in the plot with them yourself.”’ 

** Of course I was behind the scenes, I was in hiding, I set 
it all going. But if I were in the plot—understand that, anyway 
—it wouldn’t have ended with Liputin. So according to you I 
had arranged with my papa too that he should cause such a 
scene on purpose ? Well, whose fault is it that my papa was 
allowed to read? Who tried only yesterday to prevent you 
from allowing it, only yesterday ? ”’ 

“ Oh, hier il avait tant @esprit, I was so reckoning on him; 
and then he has such manners. I thought with him and 

Karmazinov ... Only think!” 

“Yes, only think. But in spite of tant d’esprit papa has made 
things worse, and if I’d known beforehand that he’d make such 
a, mess of it, I should certainly not have persuaded you yesterday 
to keep the goat out of the kitchen garden, should I—since I 


464 THE POSSESSED 


am taking part in this conspiracy against your féte that you 
are so positive about ? And yet I did try to dissuade you yester- 
day; I tried to because I foresaw it. To foresee everything 
was, of course, impossible; he probably did not know himself 
a minute before what he would fire ofi—these nervous old men 
can’t be reckoned on like other people. But you can still save 
the situation: to satisfy the public, send to him to-morrow by 
administrative order, and with all the ceremonies, two doctors 
to inquire into his health. Even to-day, in fact, and take him 
straight to the hospital and apply cold compresses. very one 
would laugh, anyway, and see that there was nothing to take 
offence at. I'll tell people about it in the evening at the ball, 
as Iam his son. Karmazinov is another story. He was 
a perfect ass and dragged out his article for a whole hour. 
He certainly must have been in the plot with me! ‘Tl 
make a mess of it too,’ he thought, ‘to damage Yulia 
Mihailovna.’ ”’ 

‘““Oh, Karmazinov! Quelle honte! I was burning, burning 
with shame for his audience ! ”’ | 

** Well, I shouldn’t have burnt, but have cooked him instead. 
The audience was right, you know. Who was to blame for 
Karmazinov, again? Did I foist him upon you? Was I one 
of his worshippers ? Well, hang him! But the third maniac, 
the political—that’s a different matter. That was every one’s 
blunder, not only my plot.” 

‘‘ Ah, don’t speak of it! That was awful, awful! That was 
my fault, entirely my fault!” 

‘‘ Of course it was, but I don’t blame you for that. No one 
can control them, these candid souls! You can’t always be 
safe from them, even in Petersburg. He was recommended to 
you, and in what terms too! So you will admit that you are 
bound to appear at the ball to-night. It’s an important business. 
It was you put him on to the platform. You must make it 
plain now to the public that you are not in league with him, 
that the fellow is in the hands of the police, and that you were 
in some inexplicable way deceived. You ought to declare with 
indignation that you were the victim of a madman. Because he 
is a madman and nothing more. That’s how you must put it 
about him. I can’t endure these people who bite. I say worse 
things perhaps, but not from the platform, you know. And they 
are talking about a senator too.” 

“What senator? Who’s talking ?” 


THE END OF THE FETE 465 


“TI don’t understand it myself, you know. Do you know 
anything about a senator, Yulia Mihailovna ? ”’ 

‘* A senator ?”’ | 

** You see, they are convinced that a senator has been appointed 
to be governor here, and that you are being superseded from 
Petersburg. I’ve heard it from lots of people.” 

‘‘ Pve heard it too,’”’ I put in. 

‘Who said so ?”’ asked Yulia Mihailovna, flushing all over. 

‘You mean, who said so first? How can I tell? But there 
it is, people say so. Masses of people are saying so. They 
were saying so yesterday particularly. They are all very serious 
about it, though I can’t make it out. Of course the more 
intelligent and competent don’t talk, but even some of those 
listen.” 

“How mean! And... how stupid!” 

‘Well, that’s just why you must make your appearance, to 
show these fools.” 

*‘I confess I feel myself that it’s my duty, but... what if 
there’s another disgrace in store for us? What if people don’t 
come ? No one will come, you know, no one!” 

‘““How hot you are! They not come! What about the new 
clothes ? What about the girls’ dresses? I give you up as a 
woman after that! Is that your knowledge of human nature ? ” 

‘*' The marshal’s wife won’t come, she won’t.”’ 

‘* But, after all, what has happened ? Why won’t they come ? ” 
he cried at last with angry impatience. 

‘‘ Tgnominy, disgrace—that’s what’s happened. I don’t know 
what to call it, but after it I can’t face people.” 

‘“Why ? How are you to blame for it, after all? Why do 
you take the blame of it on yourself? Isn’t it rather the fault 
of the audience, of your respectable residents, your paters- 
familias ? They ought to have controlled the roughs and the 
rowdies—for it was all the work of roughs and rowdies, nothing 
serious. You can never manage things with the police alone in 
any society, anywhere. Among us every one asks for a special 
policeman to protect him wherever he goes. People don’t 
understand that society must protect itself. And what do our 
_ patresfamilias, the officials, the wives and daughters, do in such 
cases? They sit quiet and sulk. In fact there’s not enough 
social initiative to keep the disorderly in check.” 

‘‘ Ah, that’s the simple truth! They sit quiet, sulk and... 


gaze about them.”’ 
2G" 


466 THE POSSESSED 


‘“‘ And if it’s the truth, you ought to say so aloud, proudly, 
sternly, just to show that you are not defeated, to those 
respectable residents and mothers of families. Oh, you can do 
it; you have the gift when your head is clear. You will gather 
them round you and say it aloud. And then a paragraph in the 
Voice and the Financial News. Wait a bit, Ill undertake it 
myself, ll arrange it all for you. Of course there must be more 
superintendence: you must look after the buffet; you must 
ask the prince, you must ask Mr. ... You must not desert 
us, Monsieur, just when we have to begin all over again. And 
finally, you must appear arm-in-arm with Andrey Antonovitch. 

. How is Andrey Antonovitch ? ” 

‘Oh, how unjustly, how untruly, how cruelly you have always 
judged that angelic man!” Yulia Mihailovna cried in a sudden 
outburst, almost with tears, putting her handkerchief to her 
eyes. 

Pyotr Stepanovitch was positively taken aback for the moment. 

‘““Good heavens! I. ... Whathavelsaid? I’vealways.. .” 

‘You never have, never! You have never done him 
justice.” | 

‘“There’s no understanding a woman,” grumbled Pyotr 
Stepanovitch, with a wry smile. 

‘* He is the most sincere, the most delicate, the most angelic 
of men! The most kind-hearted of men! ”’ 

‘Well, really, as for kind-heartedness . . . ve always done 
him justice... .” 

“Never! But let us drop it. I am too awkward in my 
defence of him. This morning that little Jesuit, the marshal’s 
wife, also dropped some sarcastic hints about what happened 
yesterday.” 

‘Oh, she has no thoughts to spare for yesterday now, she is 
full of to-day. And why are you so upset at her not coming to 
the ball to-night ? Of course, she won’t come after getting 
mixed up in such a scandal. Perhaps it’s not her fault, but still 
her reputation . . . her hands are soiled.” 

‘What do you mean; I don’t understand? Why are 
her hands soiled?” Yulia Mihailovna looked at him in 
perplexity. 

“IT don’t vouch for the truth of it, but the town is ringing 
with the story that it was she brought them together.” 

“What do you mean? Brought whom together ?” 

“What, do you mean to say you don’t know ?”’ ie soli 


THE END OF THE FETE 467 


with well-simulated wonder. ‘‘ Why Stavrogin and Lizaveta 
Nikolaevna.” 

“What? How ?” we all cried out at once. 

“Is it possible you don’t know? Phew! Why, it is quite a 
tragic romance: Lizaveta Nikolaevna was pleased to get out of 
that lady’s carriage and get straight into Stavrogin’s carriage, 
and slipped off with ‘ the latter ’ to Skvoreshniki in full daylight. 
Only an hour ago, hardly an hour.” 

We were flabbergasted. Of course we fell to questioning him, 
but to our wonder, although he ‘“‘ happened” to be a witness of 
the scene himself, he could give us no detailed account of it. 
The thing seemed to have happened like this: when the 
marshal’s wife was driving Liza and Mavriky, Nikolaevitch from 
the matinée to the house of Praskovya Ivanovna (whose legs 
_ were still bad) they saw a carriage waiting a short distance, 
about twenty-five paces, to one side of the front door. When 
Liza jumped out, she ran straight to this carriage; the door 
was flung open and shut again ; Liza called to Mavriky Nikolae- 
vitch, “‘Spare me,’’ and the carriage drove off at full speed 
to Skvoreshniki. To our hurried questions whether it was by 
arrangement? Who was in the carriage ? Pyotr Stepanovitch 
answered that he knew nothing about it; no doubt it had been 
arranged, but that he did not see Stavrogin himself; possibly the 
old butler, Alexey Yegorytch, might have been in the carriage. 
To the question ‘‘ How did he come to be there, and how did 
he know for a fact that she had driven to Skvoreshniki?” he 
answered that he happened to be passing and, at seeing Liza, 
he had run up to the carriage (and yet he could not make out 
who was in it, an inquisitive man like him !) and that Mawriky 
Nikolaevitch, far from setting off in pursuit, had not even tried 
to stop Liza, and had even laid a restraining hand on the 
marshal’s wife, who was shouting at the top of her voice: ‘“ She 
is going to Stavrogin, to Stavrogin.” At this point I lost 
patience, and cried furiously to Pyotr Stepanovitch : 

‘It’s all your doing, you rascal! This was what you were 
doing this morning. You helped inp you came in the 
carriage, you helped her into it ... it was you, you, you! 
- Yulia Mihailovna, he is your enemy; he will be your ruin too! 
Beware of him !”’ 

And I ran headlong out of the house.. I wonder myself reo 
cannot make out to this day how I came to say that to him. 
But I guessed quite right: it had all happened almost exactly 


468 THE POSSESSED 


as I said, as appeared later. What struck me most was the 
obviously artificial way in which he broke the news. He had 
not told it at once on entering the house as an extraordinary 
piece of news, but pretended that we knew without his telling 
us which was impossible in so short a time. And if we had 
known it, we could not possibly have refrained from mentioning 
it till he introduced the subject. Besides, he could not have 
heard yet that the town was ‘ringing with gossip ’”’ about the 
marshal’s wife in so short a time. Besides, he had once or twice 
given a vulgar, frivolous smile as he told the story, probably 
considering that we were fools and completely taken in. 

But I had no thought to spare for him; the central fact 
I believed, and ran from Yulia Mihailovna’s, beside myself. 
The catastrophe cut me to the heart. I was wounded almost 
to tears; perhaps I did shed some indeed. I was at a complete 
loss what to do. I rushed to Stepan Trofimovitch’s, but the 
vexatious man still refused to open the door. Nastasya informed 
me, in a reverent whisper, that he had gone to bed, but I did not 
believe it. At Liza’s house I succeeded in questioning the ser- | 
vants. They confirmed the story of the elopement, but knew 
nothing themselves. There was great commotion in the house ; 
their mistress had been attacked by fainting fits, and Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch was with her. I did not feel it possible to ask for 
Mavriky Nikolaevitch. To my inquiries about Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch they told me that he had been in and out continually of 
late, sometimes twice in the day. ‘The servants were sad, and 
showed particular respectfulness in speaking of Liza; they were 
fond of her. That she was ruined, utterly ruined, I did not 
doubt ; but the psychological aspect of the matter I was utterly 
unable to understand, especially after her scene with Stavrogin 
the previous day. To run about the town and inquire at the 
houses of acquaintances, who would, of course, by now have 
heard the news and be rejoicing at it, seemed to me revolting, 
besides being humiliating for Liza. But, strange to say, I ran 
to see Darya Pavlovna, though I was not admitted (no one had 
been admitted into the house since the previous morning). 
I don’t know what I could have said to her and what made me 
run to her. From her I went to her brother’s. Shatov listened 
sullenly and in silence. I may observe that I found him more 
gloomy than I had ever seen him before ; he was awfully pre- 
occupied and seemed only to listen to me with an effort. He 
said scarcely anything and began walking up and down his cell 


THE END OF THE FETE 469 


from corner to corner, treading more noisily than usual. As I 
was going down the stairs he shouted after me to go to Liputin’s : 
‘There you'll hear everything.” Yet I did not go to Liputin’s, 
but after I’d gone a good way towards home I turned back to 
Shatov’s again, and, half opening the door without going in, 
suggested to him laconically and with no kind of explanation, 
“Won't you go to Marya Timofyevna to-day?” At this 
Shatov swore at me, and [ went away. I note here that I may 
not forget it that he did purposely go that evening to the other 
end of the town to see Marya Timofyevna, whom he had not 
seen for some time. He found her in excellent health and spirits 
and Lebyadkin dead drunk, asleep on the sofa in the first room. 
This was at nine o’clock. He told me so himself next day when 
we met for a moment in the street. Before ten o’clock I made 
up my mind to go to the ball, but not in the capacity of a 
steward (besides my rosette had been left at Yulia Mihailovna’s),. 
I was tempted by irresistible curiosity to listen, without asking 
any questions, to what people were saying in the town about 
all that had happened. I wanted, too, to have a look at Yulia 
Mihailovna, if only at a distance. I reproached myself greatly 
that I bad left her so abruptly that afternoon. 


Iil 


All that night, with its almost grotesque incidents, and the 
terrible dénowement that followed in the early morning, still 
seems to me like a hideous nightmare, and is, for me at least, 
the most painful chapter in my chronicle. I was late for the 
ball, and it was destined to end so quickly that I arrived not 
long before it was over. It was eleven o’clock when I reached 
the entrance of the marshal’s house, where the same White Hall 
in which the matinée had taken place had, in spite of the short 
interval between, been cleared and made ready to serve as the 
chief ballroom for the whole town, as we expected, to dance in. 
But far as I had been that morning from expecting the ball to 
_ be a success, I had had no presentiment of the full truth. Not 
one family of the higher circles appeared ; even the subordinate 
officials of rather more consequence were absent—and this was 
a very striking fact. As for ladies and girls, Pyotr Stepanovitch’s 
arguments (the duplicity of which was obvious now) turned out 


470 THE POSSESSED | 


to be utterly incorrect: exceedingly few had come; to four 
men there was scarcely one lady—and what ladies they were! 
Regimental ladies of a sort, three doctors’ wives with their 
daughters, two or three poor ladies from the country, the seven 
daughters and the niece of the secretary whom I have mentioned 
already, some wives of tradesmen, of post-office clerks and other 
small fry—was this what Yulia Mihailovna expected? Half 
the tradespeople even were absent. As for the men, in spite 
of the complete absence of all persons of consequence, there was 
still a crowd of them, but they made a doubtful and suspicious 
impression. There were, of course, some quiet and respectful 
officers with their wives, some of the most docile fathers of 
families, like that secretary, for instance, the father of his seven 
daughters. All these humble, insignificant people had come, as 
one of these gentlemen expressed it, because it was “ inevitable.” 
But, on the other hand, the mass of free-and-easy people and 
the mass too of those whom Pyotr Stepanovitch and I had 
suspected of coming in without tickets, seemed even bigger than 
in the afternoon. So far they were all sitting in the refreshment 
bar, and had gone straight there on arriving, as though it were 
the meeting-place they had agreed upon. So at least it seemed 
to me. The refreshment bar had been placed in a large room, 
the last of several opening out of one another. Here Prohoritch 
was installed with all the attractions of the club cuisine and with 
a tempting display of drinks and dainties. I noticed several 
persons whose coats were almost in rags and whose get-up was 
altogether suspicious and utterly unsuitable for a ball. They 
had evidently been with great pains brought to a state of partial 
sobriety which would not last long ; and goodness knows where 
they had been brought from, they were not local people. I knew, 
of course, that it was part of Yulia Mihailovna’s idea that the 
ball should be of the most democratic character, and that 
‘‘even working people and shopmen should not be excluded if 
any one of that class chanced to pay for a ticket.’* She could 
bravely utter such words in her committee with absolute security 
that none of the working people of our town, who all lived in 
extreme poverty, would dream of taking a ticket. But in 
spite of the democratic sentiments of the committee, I could 
hardly believe that such sinister-looking and shabby people 
could have been admitted in the regular way. But who could 
have admitted them, and with what object? Lyamshin and 
Liputin had already been deprived of their steward’s rosettes, 


THE END OF THE FETE 471 


though they were present at the ball, as they were taking part in 
the “literary quadrille.”” But, tomy amazement, Liputin’s place 
was taken by the divinity student, who had caused the greatest 
scandal at the matinée by his skirmish with Stepan Trofimovitch ; 
and Lyamshin’s was taken by Pyotr Stepanovitch himself. 
What was to be looked for under the circumstances ? 

I tried to listen to the conversation. I was struck by the 
wildness of some ideas I heard expressed. It was maintained 
in one group, for instance, that Yulia Mihailovna had arranged 
Liza’s elopement with Stavrogin and had been paid by the latter 
for doing so. Even the sum paid was mentioned. It was 
asserted that she had arranged the whole féte with a view to 
it, and that that was the reason why half the town had not 
turned up at the ball, and that Lembke himself was so upset 
about it that “his mind had given way,”’ and that, crazy as he 
was, “she had got him in tow.’ There was a great deal of 
laughter too, hoarse, wild and significant. Every one was 
criticising the ball, too, with great severity, and abusing Yulia 
Mihailovna without ceremony. In fact it was disorderly, 
incoherent, drunken and excited babble, so it was difficult to 
put it together and make anything of it. At the same time 
there were simple-hearted people enjoying themselves at the 
refreshment-bar; there were even some ladies of the sort who 
are surprised and frightened at nothing, very genial and festive, 
chiefly military ladies with their husbands. They made parties 
at the little tables, were drinking tea, and were very merry. The 
refreshment-bar made a snug refuge for almost half of the 
guests. Yet in a little time all this mass of people must stream 
into the ballroom. It was horrible to think of it! 

Meanwhile the prince had succeeded in arranging three skimpy 
quadrilles in the White Hall. The young ladies were dancing, 
while their parents were enjoying watching them. But many 
of these respectable persons had already begun to think how 
they could, after giving their girls a treat, get off in good time 
before “‘ the trouble began.” Absolutely every one was con- 
vinced that it certainly would begin. It would be difficult for 
me to describe Yulia Mihailovna’s state of mind. Idid not talk 
to her though I went close up to her. She did not respond to 
the bow I made her on entering ; she did not notice me (really 
did not notice). There was a painful look in her face and a 
contemptuous and haughty though restless and agitated expres- 
sion in her eyes. She controlled herself with evident suffering— 


472 THE POSSESSED 


for whose sake, with what object? She certainly ought to 
have gone away, still more to have got her husband away, and 
she remained! From her face one could see that her eyes were 
‘fully opened,” and that it was useless for her to expect any- 
thing more. She did not even summon Pyotr Stepanovitch 
(he seemed to avoid her; I saw him in the refreshment-room, 
he was extremely lively). But she remained at the ball and did 
not let Andrey Antonovitch leave her side for a moment. Oh, 
up to the very last moment, even that morning she would have 
repudiated any hint about his health with genuine indignation. 
But now her eyes were to be opened on this subject too. As for 
me, I thought from the first glance that Andrey Antonovitch 
looked worse than he had done in the morning. He seemed to 
be plunged into a sort of oblivion and hardly to know where he 
was. Sometimes he looked about him with unexpected severity 
—at me, for instance, twice. Once he tried to say something ; 
he began loudly and audibly but did not finish the sentence, 
throwing a modest old clerk who happened to be near him almost 
into a panic. But even this humble section of the assembly 
held sullenly and timidly aloof from Yulia Mihailovna and at 
the same time turned upon her husband exceedingly strange 
glances, open and staring, quite out of keeping with their 
habitually submissive demeanour. 

** Yes, that struck me, and I suddenly began to guess about 
Andrey Antonovitch,’’ Yulia Mihailovna confessed to me after- 
wards. 

Yes, she was to blame again! Probably when after my 
departure she had settled with Pyotr Stepanovitch that there 
should be a ball and that she should be present she must have 
gone again to the study where Andrey Antonovitch was sitting, 
utterly ‘‘ shattered ’’ by the matinée ; must again have used all 
her fascinations to persuade him to come with her. But what 
misery she must have been in now! And yet she did not go 
away. Whether it was pride or simply she lost her head, I do 
not know. In spite of her haughtiness, she attempted with 
smiles and humiliation to enter into conversation with some 
ladies, but they were confused, confined themselves to distrustful 
monosyllables, ‘“‘ Yes’? and ‘“‘ No,” and evidently avoided her. 

The only person of undoubted consequence who was present 
at the ball was that distinguished general whom I have described 
already, the one who after Stavrogin’s duel with Gaganov 
. “opened the door to public impatience” at the marshal’s wife’s. 


THE END OF THE FETE 473 


He walked with an air of dignity through the rooms, looked 
about, and listened, and tried to appear as though he had come 
rather for the sake of observation than for the sake of enjoying 
himself. . . . He ended by establishing himself beside Yulia 
Mihailovna and not moving a step away from her, evidently 
trying to keep up her spirits, and reassure her. He certainly 
was a most kind-hearted man, of very high rank, and so old that 
even compassion from him was not wounding. But to admit 
to herself that this old gossip was venturing to pity her and 
almost to protect her, knowing that he was doing her honour 
by his presence, was very vexatious. The general stayed by her 
and never ceased chattering. 

“They say a town can’t go on without seven righteous 


men ... seven, | think it is, I am not sure of the number 
fixed. ... . I don’t know how many of these seven, the certified 
righteous of the town . . . have the honour of being present at 


your ball, Yet in spite of their presence I begin to feel unsafe. 
Vous me pardonnez, charmante dame, n’est-ce pas? I speak 
allegorically, but I went into the refreshment-room and I am 
glad I escaped alive. ... Our priceless Prohoritch is not in 
his place there, and I believe his bar will be destroyed before 
‘morning. But I am laughing. I am only waiting to see what 
the ‘ literary quadrille’ is going to be like, and then home to 
bed. You must excusea gouty oldfellow. Igo early to bed, and 
I would advise you too to go ‘ by-by,’ as they say aux enfants. 
I’ve come, you know, to have a look at the pretty girls... 
whom, of course, I could meet nowhere in such profusion as here. 
They all live beyond the river and I don’t drive out so far. 
There’s a wife of an officer . » . in the chasseurs I believe he is 
.. . who is distinctly pretty, distinctly, and... she knows 
it herself. I’ve talked to the sly puss; she is a sprightly one 
,. . and the girls too are fresh-looking ; but that’s all, there’s 
nothing but freshness. Still, it’s a pleasure to look at them. 
There are some rosebuds, but their lips are thick. As a rule 
there’s an irregularity about female beauty in Russia, and .. . 
they are a little like buns. . . . vous me pardonnez, n’est-ce pas ? 
. with good eyes, however, laughing eyes. . . . These rose- 
buds are charming for two years when they are young . . . even 
for three . . . then they broaden out and are spoilt for ever 
. . . producing in their husbands that deplorable indifference 
which does so much to promote the woman movement... 
that is, if I understand it correctly. ...H’m! It’s a fine hall; 


474 THE POSSESSED 


the rooms are not badly decorated. It might be worse. The 
music might be much worse. . . . I don’t say it ought to have 
been. What makes a bad impression is that there are so few 
ladies. I say nothing about the dresses. It’s bad that that 
chap in the grey trousers should dare to dance the cancan so 
openly. I can forgive him if he does it in the gaiety of his heart, 
and since he is the local chemist. . . . Still, eleven o’clock is a 
bit early even for chemists. There were two fellows fighting in 
the refreshment-bar and they weren’t turned out. At eleven 
o'clock people ought to be turned out for fighting, whatever the 
standard of manners. . . . Three o’clock is a different matter ; 
then one has to make concessions to public opinion—if only this 
ball survives till three o’clock. Varvara Petrovna has not kept 
her word, though, and hasn’t sent flowers. H’m! She has no 
thoughts for flowers, pauvre mére! And poor Liza! Have you 
heard ? They say it’s a mysterious story ... and Stavrogin 
is to the front again. ...H’m! I would have gone home to 
bed ...I1 can hardly keep my eyes open. But when is this 
‘literary quadrille’’ coming on ? ”’ 

At last the ‘‘ literary quadrille’’ began. Whenever of late 
there had been conversation in the town on the ball it had — 
invariably turned on this literary quadrille, and as no one could 
imagine what it would be like, it aroused extraordinary curiosity. 
Nothing could be more unfavourable to its chance of success, and 
great was the disappointment. 

The side doors of the White Hall were thrown open and several 
masked figures appeared. The public surrounded them eagerly. 
All the occupants of the refreshment-bar trooped to the last man 
into the hall. The masked figures took their places for the dance. 
I succeeded in making my way to the front and installed myself 
just “behind Yulia Mihailovna, Von Lembke, and the general. 
At this point Pyotr Stepanovitch, who had kept away till that 
time, skipped up to Yulia Mihailovna. 

‘“‘ I’ve been in the refreshment-room all this time, watching,” 
he whispered, with the air of a guilty schoolboy, which he, how- 
ever, assumed on purpose to irritate her even more. She turned 
crimson with anger. 

‘““You might give up trying to deceive me now at least, 
insolent man!” broke from her almost aloud, so that it was 
heard by other people. Pyotr Stepanovitch skipped annay. 
extremely well satisfied with himself. 

It would be difficult to imagine a more pitiful, vulgar, dull and 


THE END OF THE FETE 475 


insipid allegory than this “literary quadrille.’’ Nothing could 
be imagined less appropriate to our local society. Yet they say 
it was Karmazinov’s idea. It was Liputin indeed who arranged 
it, with the help of the lame teacher who had been at the meeting 
at Virginsky’s. But Karmazinov had given the idea and had, it 
was said, meant to dress up and to take a special and prominent 
part init. The quadrille was made up of six couples of masked 
figures, who were not in fancy dress exactly, for their clothes were 
like every one else’s. Thus, for instance, one short and elderly 
gentleman wearing a dress-coat—in fact, dressed like every one 
else—wore a venerable grey beard, tied on (and this constituted 
his disguise). As he danced he pounded up and down, taking 
tiny and rapid steps on the same spot with a stolid expression 
of countenance. He gave vent to sounds in a subdued but 
husky bass, and this huskiness was meant to suggest one of the 
well-known papers. Opposite this figure danced two giants, 
X and Z, and these letters were pinned on their coats, but what 
the letters meant remained unexplained. ‘‘ Honest Russian 
thought’ was represented by a middle-aged gentleman in 
spectacles, dress-coat and gloves, and wearing fetters (real 
fetters). Under his arm he had a portfolio containing papers 
relating to some “case.” To convince the sceptical a letter from 
abroad testifying to the honesty of ‘“‘ honest Russian thought ” 
peeped out of his pocket. All this was explained by the stewards, 
as the letter which peeped out of his pocket could not be read. 
‘** Honest Russian thought ” had his right hand raised and in it 
held a glass as though he wanted to propose a toast. In a line 
with him on each side tripped a crop-headed nihilist girl ; while 
ais-d-vis danced another elderly gentleman in a dress-coat with 
a heavy cudgel in his hand. He was meant to represent a 
formidable periodical (not a Petersburg one), and seemed to be 
saying, “Ill pound you to a jelly.” SButin spite of his cudgel 
he could not bear the spectacles of ‘‘ honest Russian thought ” 
fixed upon him and tried to look away, and when he did the 
pas de deux, he twisted, turned, and did not know what to do 
with himself—so terrible, probably, were the stings of his con- 
science! JI don’t remember all the absurd tricks they played, 
however; it was all in the same style, so that I felt at last 
painfully ashamed. And this same expression, as it were, of 
shame was reflected in the whole public, even on the most sullen 
figures that had come out of the refreshment-room. For some 
time all were silent and gazed with angry perplexity. When a 


476 THE POSSESSED 


man is ashamed he generally begins to get angry and is dispoged 
to be cynical. By degrees a murmur arose in the audience, 

‘“‘ What’s the meaning of it ?”’? a man who had come in from 
the refreshment-room muttered in one of the groups. 

‘* It’s silly.”’ 

‘“‘ It’s something literary. It’s a criticism of the Vorce.” 

‘** What’s that to me ?”’ 

From another group : 

Asses |”): 

** No, they are not asses ; it’s we who are the asses.” 

“Why are you an ass ?”’ 

“TIT am not an ass.” , 

‘“‘ Well, if you are not, I am certainly not.” 

From a third group : 

‘““We ought to give them a good smacking and send them 
flying.” 

‘* Pull down the hall! ” 

From a fourth group : 

‘“* I wonder the Lembkes are not ashamed to look on!” 

** Why should they be ashamed ? You are not.” 

** Yes, 1 am ashamed, and he is the governor.” 

** And you are a pig.” 

‘“‘ [ve never seen such a commonplace ball in my life,” a lady 
observed viciously, quite close to Yulia Mihailovna, obviously 
with the intention of being overheard. She was a stout lady 
of forty with rouge on her cheeks, wearing a bright-coloured 
silk dress. Almost every one in the town knew her, but no one 
received her. She was the widow of a civil councillor, who had 
left her a wooden house and a small pension ; but she lived, well 
and kept horses. Two months previously she had called on 
Yulia Mihailovna, but the latter had not received her. 

‘ That might have been forescen,”’ she added, looking insolently 
into Yulia Mihailovna’s face. 

‘““If you could foresee it, why did you come?” Yulia 
Mihailovna could not resist saying. 

‘‘ Because I was too simple,’ the sprightly lady answered 
instantly, up in arms and eager for the fray; but the general 
intervened. 

““ Chére dame’’—he bent over to Yulia Mihailovna—“ you’d 
really better be going. We are only in their way and they’ll 
enjoy themselves thoroughly without us. You’ve done your 
part, you’ve opened the ball, now leave them in peace. And 


THE END OF THE FETE 477 


Andrey Antonovitch doesn’t seem to be feeling quite satis- 
factorily. . . . To avoid trouble.” 

But it was too late. 

All through the quadrille Andrey Antonovitch gazed at the 
dancers with a sort of angry perplexity, and when he heard the 
comments of the audience he began looking about him uneasily. 
Then for the first time he caught sight of some of the persons 
who had come from the refreshment-room ; there was an expres- 
sion of extreme wonder in his face. Suddenly there was a loud 
roar of laughter at a caper that was cut in the quadrille. The 
editor of the “‘ menacing periodical, not a Petersburg one,”? who 
was dancing with the cudgel in his hands, felt utterly unable to 
endure the spectacled gaze of “‘ honest Russian thought,”’ and 
not knowing how to escape it, suddenly in the last figure advanced 

to meet him standing on his head, which was meant, by the way, 

to typify the continual turning upside down of common sense 
by the menacing non-Petersburg gazette. As Lyamshin was 
the only one who could walk standing on his head, he had 
undertaken to represent the editor with the cudgel. Yulia 
Mihailovna had had no idea that anyone was going to walk on 
his head. ‘‘'They concealed that from me, they concealed it,’ 
she repeated to me afterwards in despair and indignation. The 
laughter from the crowd was, of course, provoked not by the 
allegory, which interested no one, but simply by a man’s walking 
on his head in a swallow-tail coat. Lembke flew into a rage and 
shook with fury. 

** Rascal!’ he cried, pointing to Lyamshin, “take hold of 
the scoundrel, turn him over .. . turn his legs . . . his head 

. . so that his head’s up... up!” 

Lyamshin jumped on to his feet. The laughter grew louder. 

“Turn out all the scoundrels who are laughing!’ Lembke 
prescribed suddenly. 

There was an angry roar and laughter in the crowd. 

“You can’t do like that, your Excellency.” 

You mustn’t abuse the public.” 

“You are a fool yourself!” a voice cried suddenly from a 


corner. 
‘‘ Rilibusters ! ’? shouted some one from the other end of the 


room. 

Lembke looked round quickly at the shout and turned pale. 
A vacant smile came on to his lips, as though he suddenly under- 
stood and remembered something. 


478 THE POSSESSED 


‘*Gentlemen,”’ said Yulia Mihailovna, addressing the crowd 
which was pressing round them, as she drew her husband away— 
‘gentlemen, excuse Andrey Antonovitch. Andrey Antonovitch 
is unwell... excuse . . . forgive him, gentlemen.” 

I positively heard her say ‘“‘forgive him.” It all happened 
very quickly. But I remember for a fact that a section of. the 
public rushed out of the hall immediately after those words of 
Yulia Mihailovna’s as though panic-stricken. J remember one 
hysterical, tearful feminine shriek: 

** Ach, the same thing again! ”’ 

And in the retreat of the guests, which was almost becoming 
a crush, another bomb exploded exactly as in the afternoon. 

“Fire! All the riverside quarter is on fire!” 

I don’t remember where this terrible cry rose first, whether 
it was first raised in the hall, or whether some one ran upstairs 
from the entry, but it was followed by such alarm that I can’t. 
attempt to describe it.. More than half the guests at the ball came 
from the quarter beyond the river, and were owners or occupiers 
of wooden houses in that district. They rushed to the windows, 
pulled back the curtains in a flash, and tore down the blinds. 
The riverside was in flames. The fire, it is true, was only 
beginning, but it was in flames in three separate places—and 
that was what was alarming. 

‘‘ Arson! The Shpigulin men!” roared the crowd, 

l remember some very characteristic exclamations : | 

‘““Pve had a presentiment in my heart that there’d be arson, 
TPve had a presentiment of it these last few days! ” 

‘The Shpigulin men, the Shipgulin men, no one else 

** We were all lured here on purpose to set fire to it!” 

This last most amazing exclamation came from a woman; it 
was an unintentional involuntary shriek of a housewife whose 
goods were burning. Every one rushed for the door. I won’t 
describe the crush in the vestibule over sorting out cloaks, 
shawls, and pelisses, the shrieks of the frightened women, the 
weeping of the young ladies. I doubt whether there was any 
theft, but it was no wonder that in such disorder some went 
away without their wraps because they were unable to find them, 
and this grew into a legend with many additions, long preserevd 
in the town. Lembke and Yulia Mihailovna were almost 
crushed by the crowd at the doors. 

“Stop, every one! Don’t let anyone out!’ yelled Lembke, 
stretching out his arms menacingly towards the crowding people. 


{? 


tie 


THE END OF THE FETE 479 


“Every one without exception to be strictly searched at 
once ! ” 

A storm of violent oaths rose from the crowd. 

‘‘ Andrey Antonovitch! Andrey Antonovitch!” cried Yulia 
Mihailovna in complete despair. 

* Arrest her first!’ shouted her husband, pointing his finger 
at her threateningly. ‘Search her first! The ball was arranged 
with a view to the fire... .” 

She screamed and fell into a swoon. (Qh, there was no doubt 
of its being a real one.) The general, the prince, and I rushed 
to her assistance; there were others, even among the ladies, 
who helped us at that difficult moment. We carried the unhappy 
woman out of this hell to her carriage, but she only regained 
consciousness as she reached the house, and her first utterance 
was about Andrey Antonovitch again. With the destruction of 
all her fancies, the only thing left in her mind was Andrey 
Antonovitch. They sent for a doctor. I remained with her for 
a whole hour; the prince did so too. The general, in an access 
of generous feeling (though he had been terribly scared), meant 
to remain all night ‘“‘ by the bedside of the unhappy lady,’ but 
within ten minutes he fell asleep in an arm-chair in the drawing- 
room while waiting for the doctor, and there we left him. 

The chief of the police, who had hurried from the ball to the 
fire, had succeeded in getting Andrey Antonovitch out of the 
hall after us, and attempted to put him into Yulia Mihailovna’s 
carriage, trying all he could to persuade his Excellency ‘“‘ to 
seek repose.” But I don’t know why he did not insist. Andrey 
Antonovitch, of course, would not hear of repose, and was set on 
going to the fire; but that was not a sufficient reason. It 
ended in his taking him to the fire in his droshky. He told us 
afterwards that Lembke was gesticulating all the way and 
‘“‘ shouting orders that it was impossible to obey owing to their 
unusualness.”? It was officially reported later on that his 
Excellency had at that time been in a delirious conditign “ owing 
to a sudden fright.” 

There is no need to describe how the ball ended. A few dozen 
rowdy fellows, and with them some ladies, remained in the hall. 
There were no police present. They would not let the orchestra go, 
and beat the musicians who attempted to leave. By morning they . 
had pulled all Prohoritch’s stall to pieces, had drunk themselves 
senseless, danced the Kamarinsky in its unexpurgated form, 
made the rooms in a shocking mess, and only towards daybreak 


480 | THE POSSESSED 


part of this hopelessly drunken rabble reached the scene of the fire 
to make fresh disturbances there. The other part spent the 
night in the rooms dead drunk, with disastrous consequences to 
the velvet sofas and the floor. Next morning, at the earliest 
possibility, they were dragged out by their legs into the street. 
So ended the féte for the benefit of the governesses of our 
province. 


IV 


The fire frightened the inhabitants of the riverside just because 
it was evidently a case of arson. It was curious that at the first 
ery of ‘‘ fire’ another cry was raised that the Shpigulin men had 
done it. It is now well known that three Shpigulin men really 
did have a share in setting fire to the town, but that was all; all 
the other factory hands were completely acquitted, not only 
officially but also by public opinion. Besides those three rascals 
(of whom one has been caught and confessed and the other two 
have so far escaped), Fedka the convict undoubtedly had a 
hand in the arson. That is all that is known for certain about 
the fire till now; but when it comes to conjectures it’s a very 
different matter. What had led these three rascals to do it ?_ 
Had they been instigated by anyone? It is very difficult to 
answer all these questions even now. 

Owing to the strong wind, the fact that the houses at the 
riverside were almost all wooden, and that they had been set 
fire to in three places, the fire spread quickly and enveloped the 
whole quarter with extraordinary rapidity. (The fire burnt, 
however, only at two ends ; at the third spot it was extinguished 
almost as soon as it began to burn—of which later.) But the 
Petersburg and Moscow papers exaggerated our calamity. Not 
more than a quarter, roughly speaking, of the riverside district 
was burnt down ; possibly less indeed. Our fire brigade, though 
it was hardly adequate to the size and population of the town, 
worked with great promptitude and devotion. But it would 
not have been of much avail, even with the zealous co-operation 
of the inhabitants, if the wind had not suddenly dropped towards 
morning. When an hour after our flight from the ball I made 
my way to the riverside, the fire was at its height. A whole 
street parallel with the river was in flames. It was as light as 
day. Iwon’t describe the fire ; every one in Russia knows what 


THE END OF THE FETE 481 


it looks like. ‘The bustle and crush was immense in the lanes 
adjoining the burning street. The inhabitants, fully expecting 
the fire to reach their houses, were hauling out their belongings, 
but had not yet left their dwellings, and were waiting meanwhile 
sitting on their boxes and feather beds under their windows. 
Part of the male population were hard at work ruthlessly chopping 
down fences and even whole huts which were near the fire and 
on the windward side. None were crying except the children, 
who had been waked out of their sleep, though the women who 
had dragged out their chattels were lamenting in sing-song 
voices. Those who had not finished their task were still silent, 
busily carrying out their goods. Sparks and embers were carried 
a long way in all directions. People put them out as best they 
could. Some helped to put the fire out while others stood about, 
admiring it. A great fire at night always has a thrilling and 
exhilarating effect. This is what explains the attraction of 
fireworks. But in that case the artistic regularity with which 
the fire is presented and the complete lack of danger give an 
impression of lightness and playfulness like the effect of a glass 
of champagne. A real conflagration is a very different matter. 
Then the horror and a certain sense of personal danger, together 
with the exhilarating effect of a fire at night, produce on the 
spectator (though of course not in the householder whose goods 
are being burnt) a certain. concussion of the brain and, as it 
were, a challenge to those destructive instincts which, alas, lie 
hidden in every heart, even that of the mildest and most domestic 
little clerk. ... This sinister sensation is almost always 
fascinating. ‘‘I really don’t know whether one can look at a 
fire without a certain pleasure.’’ This is word for word what 
Stepan Trofimovitch said to me one night on returning home 
after he had happened to witness a fire and was still under the 
influence of the spectacle. Of course, the very man who enjoys the 
spectacle will rush into the fire himself to save a child or anold 
woman ; but that is altogether a different matter. 

Following in the wake of the crowd of sightseers, I succeeded, 
without asking questions, in reaching the chief centre of danger, 
where at last I saw Lembke, whom I was seeking at Yulia 
Mihailovna’s request. His position was strange and extra- 
ordinary. He was standing on the ruins of a fence. Thirty 
paces to the left.of him rose the black skeleton of a two-storied 
house which had almost burnt out. It had holes instead of 
windows at each story, its roof had fallen in, and the flames 

2H 


482 THE POSSESSED 


were still here.and there creeping among the charred beams. 
At the farther end of the courtyard, twenty paces away, the 
lodge, also a two-storied building, was beginning to burn, and 
the firemen were doing their utmost to save it. On the right, 
the firemen and the people were trying to save a rather large 
wooden building which was not actually burning, though it had 
caught fire several times and was inevitably bound to be burnt 
in the end. Lembke stood facing the lodge, shouting and 
gesticulating. He was giving orders which no one attempted 
to carry out. It seemed to me that every one had given him up 
as hopeless and left him. Anyway, though every one in the vast 
crowd of all classes, among whom there were gentlemen, and even 
the cathedral priest, was listening to him with curiosity and 
wonder, no one spoke to him or tried to get him away. Lembke, 
with a pale face and glittering eyes, was uttering the most 
amazing things. To complete the picture, he had lost his hat 
and was bareheaded. 

‘It’s all incendiarism ! It’s nihilism! If anything is burn- 
ing, it’s nihilism !’’ I heard almost with horror; and though 
there was nothing to be surprised at, yet actual madness, 
when one sees it, always gives one a shock. 

‘Your Excellency,” said a policeman, coming up to him, 
‘‘ what if you were to try the repose of home ? . . . It’s dangerous 
for your Excellency even to stand here.”’ 

This policeman, as I heard afterwards, had been told off by 
the chief of police to watch over Andrey Antonovitch, to 
do his utmost to get him home, and in case of danger even to 
use force—a task evidently beyond the man’s power. 

“They will wipe away the tears of the people whose houses 
have been burnt, but they will burn down the town. It’s all 
the work of four scoundrels, four and a half! Arrest the 
scoundrel! He worms himself into the honour of families. 
They made use of the governesses to burn down the houses. 
It’s vile, vile! Aie, what’s he about ?’”’ he shouted, suddenly 
noticing a fireman at the top of the burning lodge, under whom 
the roof had almost burnt away and round whom the flames 
were beginning to flare up. “‘ Pullhim down! Pull him down! 
He will fall, he will catch fire, put him out! ... What is he 
doing there 

‘ He is putting the fire out, your Excellency.”’ 

“‘ Not likely. The fire is in the minds of men and not in the 
roofs of houses. Pull him down and give it up! Better give 


THE END OF THE FETE 483 


it up, much better! Let it put itself out. Aie, who is crying 
now? An old woman! It’s an old woman shouting. Why 
have they forgotten the old woman?” _ 

There actually was an old woman crying on the ground floor 
of the burning lodge. She was an old creature of eighty, a 
relation of the shopkeeper who owned the house. But she had 
not been forgotten; she had gone back to the burning house 
while it was still possible, with the insane idea of rescuing her 
feather bed from a corner room which was still untouched. 
Choking with the smoke and screaming with the heat, for the 
room was on fire by the time she reached it, she was still trying 
with her decrepit hands to squeeze her feather bed through a 
broken window pane. Lembkerushed to her assistance. Every 
one saw him run up to the window, catch hold of one corner of 
the feather bed and try with all his might to pull it out. As ill 
luck would have it, a board fell at that moment from the roof 
and hit the unhappy governor. It did not kill him, it merely 
grazed him on the neck as it fell, but Andrey Antonovitch’s 
career was over, among us at least; the blow knocked him off his 
feet and he sank on the ground unconscious. | 

The day dawned at last, gloomy and sullen. The fire was 
abating; the wind was followed by a sudden calm, and then a 
fine drizzling rain fell. I was by that time in another part, 
some distance from where Lembke had fallen, and here I 
overheard very strange conversations in the crowd. A strange 
fact had come to light. On the very outskirts of the quarter, 
on a piece of waste land beyond the kitchen gardens, not less 
than fifty paces from any other buildings, there stood a little 
wooden house which had only lately been built, and this solitary 
house had been on fire at the very beginning, almost before 
any other. Even had it burnt down, it was so far from other 
houses that no other building in the town could have caught 
fire from it, and, vice versa, if the whole riverside had been burnt 
to the ground, that house might have remained intact, what- 
ever the wind had been. It followed that it had caught fire 
separately and independently and therefore not accidentally. 
But the chief point was that it was not burnt to the ground, and 
at daybreak strange things were discovered within it. The 
owner of this new house, who lived in the neighbourhood, rushed 
up as soon as he saw it in flames and with the help of his neighbours 
pulled apart a pile of faggots which had been heaped up by the 
side wall and set fireto. In this way he saved the house. But there 


484 _. THE POSSESSED 


were lodgers in the house—the captain, who was well known in 
the town, his sister, and their elderly servant, and these three 
persons—the captain, his sister, and their servant—had been 
murdered and apparently robbed in the night. (It was here that 
the chief of police had gone while Lembke was rescuing the 
feather bed.) 

By morning the news had spread and an immense crowd of 
all classes, even the riverside people who had been burnt out, 
had flocked to the waste land where the new house stood. It 
was difficult to get there, so dense was the crowd. I was told 
at once that the captain had been found lying dressed on the 
bench with his throat cut, and that he must have been dead drunk 
when he was killed, so that he had felt nothing, and he had 
** bled like a bull”’; that his sister Marya Timofeyevna had been 
** stabbed all over ’’ with a knife and she was lying on the floor 
in the doorway, so that probably she had been awake and had 
fought and struggled with the murderer. The servant, who had 
also probably been awake, had her skull broken. The owner 
of the house said that the captain had come to see him the 
morning before, and that in his drunken bragging he had shown 
him a lot of money, as much as two hundred roubles. The 
captain’s shabby old green pocket-book was found empty on 
the floor, but Marya Timofeyevna’s box had not been touched, 
and the silver setting of the ikon had not been removed either ; 
the captain’s clothes, too, had not been disturbed. It was 
evident that the thief had been in a hurry and was a man 
familiar with the captain’s circumstances, who had come only 
for money and knew where it was kept. If the owner of the 
house had not run up at that moment the burning faggot stack 
would certainly have set fire to the house and “it would have 
been’ difficult to find out from the charred corpses how they 
had died.” 

So the story was told. One other fact was added: that the 
person who had taken this house for the Lebyadkins was no 
other than Mr. Stavrogin, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, the son of 
Varvara Petrovna. He had come himself to take it and had 
had much ado to persuade the owner to let it,:as the latter had 
intended to use it as a tavern; but Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
was ready to give any rent he asked and had paid for six months 
in advance. 

“The fire wasn’t an accident,” I heard said in the crowd. 

But the majority said nothing. People’s faces were sullen, 


THE END OF THE FETE 485 


but I did not see signs of much indignation. People persisted, 
however, in gossiping about Stavrogin, saying that the murdered 
woman was his wife; that on the previous day he had “ dis- 
honourably ” abducted a young lady belonging to the best 
family in the place, the daughter of Madame Drozdov, and that 
a complaint was to be lodged against him in Petersburg; and 
that his wife had been murdered evidently that he might marry 
the young lady. Skvoreshniki was not more than a mile and a 
half away, and I remember I wondered whether I should not 
let them know the position of affairs. I did not notice, however, 
that there was anyone egging the crowd on and I don’t want 
to accuse people falsely, though I did see and recognised at 
once in the crowd at the fire two or three of the rowdy lot I 
had seen in the refreshment-room. I particularly remember one 
thin, tall fellow, a cabinet-maker, as I found out later, with an 
emaciated face and a curly head, black as though grimed with 
soot. He was not drunk, but in contrast to the gloomy passivity 
of the crowd seemed beside himself with excitement. He kept 
addressing the people, though I don’t remember his words ; 
nothing coherent that he said was longer than “I say, lads, what 
do you say to this? Are things to go on like this?” and so 
saying he waved his arms. 


CHAPTER III 
A ROMANCE ENDED 
I 
From the large ballroom of Skvoreshniki (the room in 
which the last interview with Varvara Petrovna and Stepan 
_Trofimovitch had taken place) the fire could be plainly seen. 
At daybreak, soon after five in the morning, Liza was standing 
at the farthest window on the right looking intently at the fading 
glow. She was alone in the room. She was wearing the dress 
she had worn the day before at the matinée—a very smart light 
green dress covered with lace, but crushed and put on carelessly 
and with haste. Suddenly noticing that some of the hooks were 
undone in front she flushed, hurriedly set it right, snatched 


up from a chair the red shawl she had flung down when she came 
in the day before, and put it round her neck. Some locks of 


her luxuriant hair had come loose and showed below the shawl — 


on her right shoulder. Her face looked weary and careworn, 
but her eyes glowed under her frowning brows. She went up to 
the window again and pressed her burning forehead against the 
cold pane. The door opened and Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch 
came in. 

‘* I’ve sent a messenger on horseback,” he said. ‘‘ In ten minutes 
we shall hear all about it, meantime the servants say that part 
of the riverside quarter has been burnt down, on the right side 
of the bridge near the quay. It’s been burning since eleven 
o’clock ; now the fire is going down.” 

He did not go near the window, but stood three steps behind 
her; she did not turn towards him. 

‘It ought to have been light an hour ago by the calendar, and 
it’s still almost night,”’ she said irritably. 

*““* Calendars always tell lies,’’’ he observed with a polite 
smile, but, a little ashamed, he made haste to add: “ It’s dull 
to live by the calendar, Liza.” 

And he relapsed into silence, vexed at the ineptitude of the 
second sentence. Liza gave a wry smile. . 

** You are in such a melancholy mood that you cannot even 
find words to speak to me. But you need not trouble, there’s a 

486 


A ROMANCE ENDED 487 


point in what you said. I always live by the calendar. Every 
step I take is regulated by the calendar. Does that surprise 
you?” 

She turned quickly from the window and sat down in a low 
chair, 

‘You sit down, too, please. We haven’t long to be together 
and I want to say anything I like. . . . Why shouldn’t you, too, 
say anything you like ?”’ 

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sat beside her and softly, almost 
timidly took her hand. 

““What’s the meaning of this tone, Liza? Where has it 
suddenly sprung from ? What do you mean by ‘we haven’t 
long to be together’? That’s the second mysterious phrase 
since you waked, half an hour ago.” 

“You are beginning to reckon up my mysterious phrases ? ”’ 

she laughed. ‘‘ Do youremember I told you I was a dead woman 
when I came in yesterday? That you thought fit to forget. 
To forget or not to notice.” 

“1 don’t remember, Liza. Why dead? You must live.” 

** And is that all? You’ve quite lost your flow of words. I’ve 
lived my hour and that’s enough. Do you remember Christopher 
Ivanovitch ? ” 

‘** No I don’t,” he answered, frowning. 

* Christopher Ivanovitch at Lausanne ? He bored you dread- 
fully. He always used to open the door and say, ‘ I’ve come for 
one minute,’ and then stay the whole day. I don’t want to be 
like Christopher Ivanovitch and stay the whole day.” 

A look of pain came into his face. 

‘Liza, it grieves me, this unnatural language. This affecta- 
tion must hurt you, too. What’s it for? What’s the object 
of it?” 

His eyes glowed. 

‘* Tjiza,’’ he cried, ‘‘ I swear I love you now more than yesterday 
when you came to me!” 

‘“‘ What a strange declaration! Why bring in yesterday and 
to-day and these comparisons ? ”’ 

‘You won’t leave me,”’ he went on, almost with despair; “‘ we 

will go away together, to-day, won’t we? Won't we?” 
© Aie, don’t squeeze my hand so painfully! Where could we 
vo together to-day? To ‘rise again ’ somewhere ? No, we’ve 
made experiments enough .. . and it’s too slow for me; and 
lam not fit for it; it’s too exalted forme. If we are to go, 


488 THE POSSESSED 


let it be to Moscow, to pay visits and entertain—that’s my ideal, 
you know ; even in Switzerland I didn’t disguise from you what 
I was like. As we can’t go to Moscow and pay visits since you 
are married, it’s no use talking of that.”’ 

‘Liza! What happened yesterday ! ” 

‘What happened is over ! ” 

“‘'That’s impossible! That’s cruel ? ”’ 

‘What if it is cruel? You must bear it if it is cruel.” © 

““ You are avenging yourself on me for yesterday’s caprice,” he 
muttered with an angry smile. Liza flushed. 

‘“ What a mean thought ! ”’ 

‘““ Why then did you bestow on me . . . so great a happiness ? 
Have I the right to know ?” 

“No, you must manage without rights; don’t aggravate the 
meanness of your supposition by stupidity. You are not lucky 
to-day. By the way, you surely can’t be afraid of public opinion 
and that you will be blamed for this ‘ great happiness’? If 
that’s it, for God’s sake don’t alarm yourself. It’s not your 
doing at all and you are not responsible to anyone. When I 
opened your door yesterday, you didn’t even know who was 
coming in. It was simply my caprice, as you expressed it just 
now, and nothing more! You can look every one in the face 
boldly and triumphantly ! ” 

“Your words, that laugh, have been making me feel 
cold with horror for the last hour. That ‘ happiness’ of which 
you speak frantically is worth ... everything to me. How 
can I lose you now ? I swear I loved you less yesterday. 
Why are you taking everything from me to-day? Do you 
know what it has cost me, this new hope? I’ve paid for it 
with life.” 

‘Your own life or another’s ? ” 

He got up quickly. 

“What does that mean?” he brought out, looking at her 
bteadily. 

‘Have you paid for it with your life or with mine? is what 
I mean. Or have you lost all power of understanding ?” cried 
Liza, flushing. ‘‘ Why did you start up so suddenly ? Why do 
you stare at me with such a look? You frighten me? What 
is it you are afraid of all the time ? I noticed some time ago that 
you were afraid and you are now, this very minute . . . Good 
heavens, how pale you are!” | 

“If you know anything, Liza, I swear I don’t . . . and I 


A ROMANCE ENDED 489 


wasn’t talking of that just now when I said that I had paid for 
it with life... .” Bs wiok 

‘“*T don’t understand you,’’ she brought out, faltering appre- 
hensively. 

At last a slow brooding smile came on to his lips. He slowly 
sat down, put his elbows on his knees, and covered his face with 
his hands. | 

_““A bad dream and delirium. . .. We were talking of two 
different things.” 

“TI don’t know what you were talking about. ... Do you 
mean to say you did not know yesterday that I should leave you 
to-day, did you know or not ? Don’t tell a lie, did you or not ?” 

“1 did,” he said softly. 

“Well then, what would you have? You knew and yet you 
accepted ‘that moment’ for yourself. Aren’t we quits ? ”’ 

‘““'Tell me the whole truth,’ he cried in intense distress. 
“When you opened my door yesterday, did you know yourself 
that it was only for one hour ? ” 

She looked at him with hatred. 

* Really, the most sensible person can ask most amazing 
questions. And why are you so uneasy ? Can it be’vanity that 
a woman should leave you first instead of your leaving her? Do 
you know, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, since I’ve been with you 
lve discovered that you are very generous to me, and it’s 
just that i can’t endure from you.” 

He got up from his seat and took a few steps about the room. 

‘* Very well, perhaps it was bound to end so. ... But how 
can it all have happened ? ”’ 

‘“* That’s a question to worry about! Especially as you know 
the answer yourself perfectly well, and understand it better than 
anyone on earth, and were counting on it yourself. Iam a young 
lady, my heart has been trained on the opera, that’s how it all 
began, that’s the solution.” 

ce No.” 

“There is nothing in it to fret your vanity. It is all the 
absolute truth. It began with a fine moment which was too 
much for me to bear. The day before yesterday, when I 
‘“‘insulted ’’ you before every one and you answered me so 
chivalrously, I went home and guessed at once that you were 
running away from me because you were married, and not from 
contempt for me which, as a fashionable young lady, I dreaded 
more than anything. I understood that.it was for my sake, 


490 THE POSSESSED 


for me, mad as I was, that you ran away. You see how I 
appreciate your generosity. Then Pyotr Stepanovitch skipped 
up to me and explained it all to me at once. He revealed to me 
that you were dominated by a ‘ great idea,’ before which he and 
I were as nothing, but yet that I was a stumbling-block in your 
path. He brought himself in, he insisted that we three should. 
work together, and said the most fantastic things about a boat — 
and about maple-wood oars out of some Russian song. I compli- 
mented him and told him he was a poet, which he swallowed 
as the real thing. And as apart from him I had known long 
before that I had not the strength to do anything for long, I 
made up my mind on the spot. Well, that’s all and quite enough, 
and please let us have no more explanations. We might quarrel. 
Don’t be afraid of anyone, I take it all on myself. I am horrid 
and capricious, I was fascinated by that operatic boat, I am a 
young lady ... but you know I did think that you were 
dreadfully in love with me. Don’t despise the poor fool, and 
don’t laugh at the tear that dropped just now. I am awfully 
given to crying with self-pity. Come, that’s enough, that’s 
enough. I am no good for anything and you are no good for 
anything ; it’s as bad for both of us, so let’s comfort ourselves 
with that. Anyway, it eases our vanity.” 

“Dream and delirium,” cried Stavrogin, wringing his hands, 
and pacing about the room. ‘“‘ Liza, poor child, what have you 
done to yourself ? ”’ 

‘*Pve burnt myself in a candle, nothing more. Surely you 
are not crying, too ? You should show less feeling and better 
breeding. . 

Why, why did you come to me?” 

“Don’t you understand what a ludicrous position you put 
yourself in in the eyes of the world by asking such questions ? ”’ 

“Why have youruined yourself, so grotesquely and so stupidly, 
and what’s to be done now ?”’ 

‘“‘ And this is Stavrogin, ‘the vampire Stavrogin,’ as you are 
called by a lady here who isin love with you! Listen! I have 
told you already, I’ve put all my life into one hour and I 
am at peace. Do the same with yours ... though you’ve no 
need to: you have plenty of ‘hours’ and ‘moments’ of all sorts 
before you.” 

‘* As many as you; I give you my solemn word, not one sain 
more than you! ”’ 

He was still walking up and down and did not see the seid 


A ROMANCE ENDED 49} 


penetrating glance she turned upon him,in which there seemed 
a dawning hope. But the light died away at the same moment. 

‘If you knew what it costs me that I can’t be sincere at this 
moment, Liza, if I could only tell you . . .” 

“Tell me? You want to tell me something, to me? God 
save me from your secrets ! ’’ she broke in almost in terror. 

He stopped and waited uneasily. 

“I ought to confess that ever since those days in Switzerland 
I have had a strong feeling that you have something awful, loath- 
some, some bloodshed on your conscience . . . and yet something 
that would make you look very ridiculous, Beware of telling 
me, if it’s true: I shall laugh you to scorn. I shall laugh at you 
for the rest of your life. . . . Aie, you are turning pale again ? 
I won’t, I won’t, Pll go at once.”? She jumped up from her chair 
with a movement of disgust and contempt. 

“Torture me, punish me, vent your spite on me,” he cried 
in despair. ‘‘ You have the full right. I knew I did not love 
you and yet I ruined you! Yes, laccepted the moment for my 
own; I had a hope .. . I’ve had it a long time . . . my last 
hope. . . . I could not resist the radiance that flooded my heart 
when you came in to me yesterday, of yourself, alone, of your 
own accord. Isuddenly believed. . .. Perhaps I have faith in 
it still.” 

* T will repay such noble frankness by being as frank. I don’t 
want to be a Sister of Mercy for you. Perhaps I really may 
become a nurse unless I happen appropriately to die to-day ; 
but if I do I won’t be your nurse, though, of course, you need one 
as much as any crippled creature. I always fancied that you 
would take me to some place where there was a huge wicked 
spider, big as a man, and we should spend our lives looking at it 
and being afraid of it. That’s how our love would spend itself. 
Appeal to Dashenka ; she will go with you anywhere you like.” 

‘** Can’t you help thinking of her even now ? ”’ 

** Poor little spaniel! Give her my greetings. Does she know 
that even in Switzerland you had fixed on her for your old age ? 
What prudence! What foresight! Aie, who’s that ?” 

At the farther end of the room a door opened a crack ; a head 

was thrust in and vanished again hurriedly. 

Ts that you, Alexey Yegorytch ?” asked Stavrogin. 

‘No, it’s only I.” Pyotr Stepanovitch thrust himself half in 
again. ‘‘ How do you do, Lizaveta Nikolaevna ? Good morning, 
anyway. I guessed I should find you both in this room. I have 


492 THE POSSESSED 


come for one moment literally, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. I was 
anxious to have a couple of words with you at all costs. . : 


absolutely necessary . . . only a few words!” 
Stavrogin moved towards him but turned back to Liza at the 
third step. 


‘“‘ Tf you hear anything directly, Liza, let me tell you I am to 
blame for it ! ”’ 

She started and looked at him in dismay; but he hurriedly 
went out. | 


Il 


The room from which Pyotr Stepanovitch had peeped in was a 
large oval vestibule. Alexey Yegorytch had been sitting there 
before Pyotr Stepanovitch came in, but the latter sent him 
away. Stavrogin closed the door after him and stood expectant. 
Pyotr Stepanovitch looked rapidly and searchingly at him. 

‘Well ? ”’ 

“Tf you know already,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch hurriedly, 
his eyes looking as though they would dive into Stavrogin’s soul, 
‘then, of course, we are none of us to blame, above all not you, 
for it’s such a concatenation . . . such a coincidence of events 

. in brief, you can’t be legally implicated and I’ve rushed here 
to tell you so beforehand.” 

‘* Have they been burnt ? murdered ? ” 

“Murdered but not burnt, that’s the trouble, but I give 
you my word of honour that it’s not been my fault, however much 
you may suspect me, eh ? Do you want the whole truth : you see 
the idea really did cross my mind—you hinted it yourself, not: 
seriously, but teasing me (for, of course, you would not hint it 
seriously), but I couldn’t bring myself’ to it, and wouldn’t bring 
myself to it for anything, not for a hundred roubles—and what 
was there to be gained by it, I mean for me, forme. . . .” (He was 
in desperate haste and his talk was like the clacking of a rattle.) 
‘“‘ But what a coincidence of circumstances: I gave that drunken 
fool Lebyadkin two hundred and thirty roubles of my own money 
(do you hear, my own money, there wasn’t a rouble of yours: 
and, what’s more, you know it yourself) the day before yesterday, 
in the evening—do you hear, not yesterday after the matinée, 
but the day before yesterday, make a note of it: it’s a very 
important coincidence for I did not know for certain at that time: 


A ROMANCE ENDED 463 


whether Lizaveta Nikolaevna ‘would come to you or not; I 
gave my own money simply because you distinguished yourself by 
taking it into your head to betray your secret toevery one. Well, 
I won’t go into that . . . that’s your affair . . . your chivalry 

. but I must own I was amazed, it was a knock-down blow. 
And forasmuch as I was exceeding weary of these tragic stories— 
and let me tell you, I talk seriously though I do use Biblical 
language—as it was all upsetting my plans in fact, I made up my 
mind at any cost, and without your knowledge, to pack the 
Lebyadkins off to Petersburg, especially as he was set on going 
himself. I made one mistake: I gave the money in your name ; 
was it a mistake or not? Perhaps it wasn’t a mistake, eh ? 
Listen now, listen how it has all turned out. . ...”’ 

In the heat of his talk he went close up to Stavrogin and took 
hold of the revers of his coat (really, it may have been on purpose). 
With a violent movement Stavrogin struck him on the arm. 

“Come, what is it ... give over... you'll break my arm 
. - . what matters is the way things have turned out,” he rattled 
on, not in the least surprised at the blow. ‘‘1 forked out the 
money in the evening on condition that his sister and he should 
set off early next morning ; I trusted that rascal Liputin with the 
job of getting them into the train and seeing them off. But that 
beast Liputin wanted to play his schoolboy pranks on the public 
——perhaps you heard ?) At the matinée ?. Listen, listen: they 
both got drunk, made up verses of which half are Liputin’s; he 
rigged Lebyadkin out in a dress-coat, assuring me meanwhile that 
he had packed him off that morning, but he kept him shut 
somewhere in a back room, till he thrust him on the platform 
at the matinée. But Lebyadkin got drunk quickly and unex- 
pectedly. Then came the scandalous scene you know of, and 
then they got him home more dead than alive, and Liputin filched 
away the two hundred roubles, leaving him only small change. 
But it appears unluckily that already that morning Lebyadkin. 
had taken that two hundred roubles out of his pocket, boasted 
of it and shown it in undesirable quarters. And as that was- 
just what Fedka was expecting, and as he had heard some- 
thing at Kirillov’s (do you remember, your hint ?) he made up 
his mind to take advantage of it. That’s the whole truth. 
~ Iam glad, anyway, that Fedka did not find the money, the rascal 
was reckoning on a thousand, you know! He was in a hurry and 
seems to have been frightened by the fire himself. . . . Would 
you believe it, that fire came as a thunderbolt for me. Devil 


494 THE POSSESSED 


only knows what to make of it! It is taking things into their 
own hands. ... Yousee, as | expect so much of you I will hide 
nothing from you: I’ve long been hatching this idea of a fire 
because it suits the national and popular taste; but I was 
keeping it for a critical moment, for that precious time when we 
should allrise up and . . . And they suddenly took it into their 
heads to do it, on their own initiative, without orders, now at 
the very moment when we ought to be lying low and keeping 
quiet! Such presumption! ... The fact is, I’ve not got to 
the bottom of it yet, they talk about two Shpigulin men... 
but if there are any of owr fellows in it, if any one of them has 
had a hand in it—so much the worse for him! You see what 
comes of letting people get ever so little out of hand! No, 
this democratic rabble, with its quintets, is a poor foundation ; 
what we want is one magnificent, despotic will, like an idol, 
resting on something fundamental and external. ... Then 
the quintets will cringe into obedience and be obsequiously ready 
on occasion. But, anyway, though, they are all crying out now 
that Stavrogin wanted his wife to be burnt and that that’s what 
caused the fire in the town, but...” 

‘Why, are they all saying that ?” 

“‘ Well, not yet, and I must confess I have heard nothing of the — 
sort, but what one can do with people, especially when they’ve 
been burnt out! Voz populi vox Det. A stupid rumour is soon 
set going. But you really have nothing to be afraid of. From 
the legal point of view you are all right, and with your conscience 
also. For you didn’t want it done, did you? There’s no clue, 
nothing but the coincidence... . The only thing is Fedka may 
remember what you said that night at Kirillov’s (and what made 
you say it ?) but that proves nothing and we shall stop Fedka’s 
mouth. I shall stop it to-day... .” 

‘* And weren’t the bodies burnt at all ? ”’ 

“Not a bit; that ruffian could not manage anything properly. 
But Lam glad, anyway, that you are so calm . . . for though you 
are not in any way to blame, even in thought, but all the same. 
. .. And you must admit that all this settles your difficulties 
capitally : you are suddenly free and a widower and can marry 
a charming girl this minute with a lot of money, who is already 
yours, into the bargain. See what can be done by crude, simple 
-coincidence—eh ? ” 

** Are you threatening me, you fool ? ” 

‘Come, leave off, leave off! Here you are, calling me a fool, 


A ROMANCE ENDED 495 


and what a tone to use! You ought to be glad, yet you... I 
rushed here on purpose to let you know in good time. . . 
Besides, how could I threaten you? As if I cared for what I 
could get by threats! Iwant you to help from goodwill and 
not from fear. You are the light and the sun. ... It’s I who 
am terribly afraid of you, not you of me! I am not Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch. ... And only fancy, as I flew here in a racing 
droshky I saw Mavriky Nikolaevitch by the fence at the farthest 
corner of your garden . . . in his greatcoat, drenched through, 
he must have been sitting there all night! Queer goings on! 
How mad people can be! ”’ 

‘“* Mavriky Nikolaevitch ? Is that true ?” 

“Yes, yes. He is sitting by the garden fence. About three 
hundred paces from here, I think. I made haste to pass him, 
but he saw me. Didn’t you know? In that case I am glad I 
didn’t forget to tell you. A man like that is more dangerous 
than anyone if he happens to have a revolver about him, and then 
the night, the sleet, or natural irritability—for after all he is in a 
nice position, ha ha! What do you think? Why is he sitting 
there ?” 

He is waiting for Lizaveta Nikolaevna, of course.”’ 

** Well! Why should she go out to him? And... in such 
rain too... whata fool!” 

‘* She is just going out to him!” 

“Eh! That’s a piece of news! Sothen ... But listen, her 
position is completely changed now. What does she want with 
Mavriky now? You are free, a widower, and can marry her 
to-morrow ? She doesn’t know yet—leave it to me and I'll 
arrange it all for you. Where is. she? We must relieve her 
mind too.” 

‘‘ Relieve her mind ? ” 

‘Rather! Let’s go.” 

‘** And do you suppose she won’t guess what those dead bodies 
mean?” said Stavrogin, screwing up his eyes in a peculiar 
way. 

Of course she won’t,”’ said Pyotr Stepanovitch with all the 
confidence of a perfect simpleton, “for legally ... Ech, what 
a man you are! What if she did guess? Women are so clever 
- at shutting their eyes to such things, you don’t understand 
women! Apart from it’s being altogether to her interest to 
marry you now, because there’s no denying she’s disgraced 
herself ; apart from that, I talked to her of ‘the boat’ and I saw | 


496 THE POSSESSED 


that one could affect her by it, so that shows you what the girl is 
made of. Don’t be uneasy, she will step over those dead bodies 
without turning a hair—especially as you are not to blame for 
them ; not in the least, are you? She will only keep them in 
reserve to use them against you when you’ve been married two 
or three years. Every woman saves up something of the sort 
out of her husband’s past when she gets married, but. by that 
time ... what may not happenina year? Ha ha!” 

‘Tf you’ve come in a racing droshky, take her to Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch now. She said just now that she could not endure 
me and would leave me, and she certainly will not accept my 
carriage.” 

‘“What! Can she really be leaving? How can this have 
come about?’ said Pyotr Stepanovitch, staring stupidly 
at him, 

‘‘ She’s guessed somehow during this night that I don’t love 
her . . . which she knew allalong, indeed.” 

** But don’t you love her?” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, with 
an expression of extreme surprise. ‘‘If so, why did you keep 
her when she came to you yesterday, instead of telling her plainly 
like an honourable man that you didn’t care for her? That was 
horribly shabby on your part; and how mean you make me 
look in her eyes!” 

Stavrogin suddenly laughed. 

“Tam laughing at my monkey,”’ he explained at once. 

“Ah! You saw that I was putting it on!” cried Pyotr 
Stepanovitch, laughing too, with great enjoyment. ‘“‘I did 
it to amuse you! Only fancy, as soon as you came out to me 
I guessed from your face that you’d been ‘ unlucky.’ A complete 
fiasco, perhaps. Eh? There! Ill bet anything,” he cried, 
almost gasping with delight, ‘‘ that you’ve been sitting side by 
side in the drawing-room all night wasting your precious time 
discussing something lofty and elevated ... There, forgive 
me, forgive me; it’s not my business, I felt sure yesterday 
that it would all end in foolishness. I brought her to you 
simply to amuse you, and to show you that you wouldn’t have 
a dull time with me. I shall be of use to you a hundred times 
in that way. I always like pleasing people. If you don’t want 
her now, which was what I was reckoning on when I came, 
thene ent 

“So you brought her simply for my amusement ? ” 

“Why, what else ?” 


A ROMANCE ENDED 497 


** Not to make me kill my wife ?” 

““Come. You've not killed her? What a tragic fellow you 
are |” 

“Tt’s just the same; you killed her.” 

“TY didn’t kil her! I tell you I had no hand in it. ... You 
are beginning to make me uneasy, though. .. .” 

“Goon. You said, ‘if you don’t want her now, then...’ ” 

** Then, leave it to me, of course. I can quite easily marry her 
oif to Mavriky Nikolaevitch, though I didn’t make him sit down 
by the fence. Don’t take that notion into your head. I am 
afraid of him, now. You talk about my droshky, but I simply 
dashed by. . . . What if he has a revolver? It’s a good thing 
I brought mine. Here it is.”’ He brought a revolver out of his 
pocket, showed it, and hid it again at once. “I took it as I was 
coming such a long way. . . . But I’ll arrange all that for you ° 
in a twinkling: her little heart is aching at this moment for 
Mavriky ; it should be, anyway. . . . And, do you know, I am 
really rather sorry for her? If I take her to Mavriky she will 
begin about you directly ; she will praise you to him and abuse 
him to his face. You know the heart of woman! There you 
are, laughing again! Iam awfully glad that you are so cheerful 
now. Come, let’s go. Dll begin with Mavriky right away, and 
about them .. . those who’ve been murdered . . . hadn’t we 
better keep quiet now? She’ll hear later on, anyway.” 

‘** What will she hear? Who’s been murdered ? What were 
you saying about Mavriky Nikolaevitch ?” said Liza, suddenly 
opening the door. 

“Ah! You've been listening ? ” 

‘* What were you saying just now about Mavriky Nikolaevitch? 
Has he been murdered ? ”’ 

“Ah! Then you didn’t hear? Don’t distress yourself, 
Mavriky Nikolaevitch is alive and well, and you can satisfy your- 
self of it in an instant, for he is here by the wayside, by the garden 


fence . . . and I believe he’s been sitting there all night. He is 
drenched through in his greatcoat! He saw me as I drove 
past.” 

“That’s not true. You said ‘murdered.’ ... Who’s been 


murdered ?”’ she insisted with agonising mistrust. 

‘‘The only people who have been murdered are my wife, her 
brother Lebyadkin, and their servant,” Stavrogin brought out 
firmly. 

Liza trembled and turned terribly pale. 

21 


498 THE POSSESSED 


‘‘ A strange brutal outrage, Lizaveta Nikolaevna. A stupid 
case of robbery,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch rattled off at once. 
‘‘Simply robbery, under cover of the fire. The crime was 
committed by Fedka the convict, and it was all that fool 
Lebyadkin’s fault for showing every one his money. ... I 
rushed here with the news . . . it fell on me like a thunderbolt. 
Stavrogin could hardly stand when I told him. We were 
deliberating here whether to tell you at once or not?” 

“Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, is he telling the truth?” Liza 
articulated faintly. 

‘*No; it’s false.”’ 

“ False!’ said Pyotr Stepanovitch, starting. ‘‘ What do you 
mean by that ?” 

“Heavens! I shall go mad!” cried Liza. 

**Do you understand, anyway, that he is mad now!”’ Pyotr 
Stepanovitch cried at the top of his voice. ‘“‘ After all, his 
wife has just been murdered. You see how white he is... . 
Why, he has been with you the whole night. He hasn’t left 
your side a minute. How can you suspect him ? ”’ 

‘‘ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, tell me, as before God, are you 
guilty or not, and I swear I’ll believe your word as though it 
were God’s, and I’ll follow you to the end of the earth. Yes, I — 
will. Ill follow you like a dog.” 

‘Why are you tormenting. her, you fantastic creature ?” 
cried Pyotr Stepanovitch in exasperation. ‘“‘ Lizaveta Niko- 
laevna, upon my oath, you can crush me into powder, but he is 
not guilty. On the contrary, it has crushed him, and he is raving, 
you see that. He is not to blame in any way, not in any way, 
not even in thought! ... It’s all the work of robbers who 
will probably be found within a week and flogged. .. . It’s 
all the work of Fedka the convict, and some Shpigulin men, all 
the town is agog with it. That’s why I say so too.” 

“Ts that right? Is that right ?”’ Liza waited trembling for 
her final sentence. 

‘“‘T did not kill them, and I was against it, but I knew they 
were going to be killed and I did not stop the murderers. 
Leave me, Liza,’ Stavrogin brought out, and he walked into the 
drawing-room. 

Liza hid her face in her hands and walked out of the house. 
Pyotr Stepanovitch was rushing after her, but at once hurried 
back and went into the drawing-room. | 

‘So that’s your line? That’s your line? Se there’s nothing 


A ROMANCE ENDED 499 


you are afraid of ?” He flew at Stavrogin in an absolute fury, 
muttering incoherently, scarcely able to find words and foaming 
at the mouth. 

Stavrogin stood in the middle of the room and did not answer 
a word. He clutched a lock of his hair in his left hand and 
smiled helplessly. Pyotr Stepanovitch pulled him violently by 
the sleeve. 

** Is it all over with you? So that’s the line you are taking ? 
You'll inform against all of us, and go to a monastery yourself, 
or to the devil. . . . But I’ll do for you, though you are not 
afraid of me!” 

“Ah! That’s you chattering!” said Stavrogin, noticing him 
at last. “Run,” he said, coming to himself suddenly, ‘“‘ run 
after her, order the carriage, don’t leave her. . . . Run, run! 
‘Take her home so that no one may know... and that she 
mayn’t go there ...to the bodies ... to the bodies. ... 
Force her to get into the carriage . .. Alexey Yegorytch! 
Alexey Yegorytch !” 

“Stay, don’t shout! By now she is in Mavriky’s arms. . .. 
Mavriky won’t put her into your carriage. ... Stay! There’s 
something more important than the carriage ! ”’ 

He seized his revolver again. Stavrogin looked at him 
gravely. ; 

“Very well, kill me,” he said softly, almost conciliatorily. 

“Foo. Damn it! What a maze of false sentiment a man 
can get into!” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, shaking with rage. 
“Yes, really, you ought to be killed! She ought simply to spit 
at you! Fine sort of ‘magic boat,’ you are ; you are a broken- 
down, leaky old hulk! . . . You ought to pull yourself together 
if only from spite! Ech! Way, what difference would it 
make to you since you ask for a bullet through your brains 
yourself ? ”’ 

Stavrogin smiled strangely. 

‘“‘Tf you were not such a buffoon I might perhaps have said 
yes now. .. . If you had only a grain of sense . . .” 

“T am a buffoon, but I don’t want you, my better half, to be 
one! Do you understand me?” 

Stavrogin did understand, though perhaps no one else did. 
‘Shatov, for instance, was astonished when Stavrogin told him 
that Pyotr Stepanovitch had enthusiasm. 

‘‘Go to the devil now, and to-morrow perhaps I may wring 
something out of myself. Come to-morrow.” 


500 THE POSSESSED 


‘Yes? Yes?” 

‘How can I tell! ... Go to hell. Go to hell.’ And he 
walked out of the room. 

‘‘ Perhaps, after all, it may be for the best,”’ Pyotr Stepanovitch 
muttered to himself as he hid the revolver. 


iil 


He rushed off to overtake Lizaveta Nikolaevna. She had not 
got far away, only a few steps, from the house. She had been 
detained by Alexey Yegorytch, who was following a step behind 
her, in a tail coat, and without a hat; his head was bowed 
respectfully. He was persistently entreating her to wait for a 
carriage ; the old man was alarmed and almost in tears. 

‘““Go along. Your master is asking for tea, and there’s no one 
to give it to him,’ said Pyotr Stepanovitch, pushing him away. 
He took Liza’s arm. 

She did not pull her arm away, but she seemed hardly to know 
what she was doing; she was still dazed. | 

‘To begin with, you are going the wrong way,” babbled Pyotr 
Stepanovitch. ‘“‘We ought to go this way, and not by the 
garden, and, secondly, walking is impossible in any case. It’s 
over two miles, and you are not properly dressed. If you would 
wait a second, Icameina droshky ; the horse is inthe yard. I'll 
get it instantly, put you in, and get you home so that no one sees 
you.” 

““ How kind you are,” said Liza graciously. 

“Oh, not at all. Any humane man in my position would do 
the same. .. .” 

Liza looked at him, and was surprised. . 

‘Good heavens! Why I thought it was that old man here 
still.”’ 

“Listen. JI am awfully glad that you take it like this, because 
it’s allsuch a frightfully stupid convention, and since it’s come to 
that, hadn’t I better tell the old man to get the carriage at once. 
It’s only a matter of ten minutes and we’ll turn back and wait 
in the porch, eh?” 

“I want first . . . where are those murdered people ?,”. 

“Ah! What next? That was what I was afraid of. 


99 


A ROMANCE’ ENDED 501 


No, we’d better leave those wretched creatures alone; it’s no 
use your looking at them.” 

“I know where they are. I know that house.” 

“Well? What if you do know it? Come; it’s raining, 
and there’s a fog. (A nice job this sacred duty T’'ve taken upon 
myself.) Listen, Lizaveta Nikolaevna! It’s one of two alter- 
natives. Hither you come with me in the droshky—in that 
case wait here, and don’t take another step, for if we go another 
twenty steps we must be seen by Mavriky Nikolaevitch.”’ 

** Mavriky Nikolaevitch! Where? Where ?” 

** Well, if you want to go with him, I’ll take you a little farther, 
if you like, and show you where he sits, but I don’t care to go 
up to him just now. No, thank you.” 

“He is waiting for me. Good God!” she suddenly stopped, 
and a flush of colour flooded her face. 

“Oh! Come now. If he is an unconventional man! You 
know, Lizaveta Nikolaevna, it’s none of my business. I am a 
complete outsider, and you know that yourself. But, still, I 
wish you well. . . . If your ‘ fairy boat’ has failed you, if it has 
turned out to be nothing more than a rotten old hulk, only fit 
to be chopped up. . .” 

“Ah! That’s fine, that’s lovely,” cried Liza. 

~* Lovely, and yet your tears are falling. You must have 
spirit. You must be as good as a man in every way. In our 
age, when woman... Foo, hang it,” Pyotr Stepanovitch 
was on the point of spitting. ‘“* And the chief point is that there 
is nothing to regret. It may all turn out for the best. Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch is a man. ... Im fact, he is a man of feeling 
though not talkative, but that’s a good thing, too, as long as he 
has no conventional notions, of course. a 

“Lovely, lovely!” Liza laughed hysterically. 

“Well, hang it all... Lizaveta Nikolaevna,” said Pyotr 
Sons. suddenly piqued. ““T am simply here on your 
account... . It’s nothing to me. . . . I helped you yesterday 
when you wanted it yourself. To- day . . well, you can see 
Mavriky Nikolaevitch from here; there he’s sitting ; he doesn’t 
seeus. Isay, Lizaveta Nikolaévna; have you ever read ‘ Polenka 
Saxe’ ?” 

“ What’s that ? ”’ 7 

“ Tt’s the name of a novel, ‘ Polenka Saxe.’ I read it when I 
was a student. ... In it a very wealthy official of some sort, 
Saxe; arrested his wife at a summer villa for infidelity. ... 


502 THE POSSESSED 


But, hang it; it’s no consequence! You’llsee, Mavriky Nikolae- 
vitch will make you an offer before you get home. He doesn’t 
see us yet.” 

“Ach! Don’t let him see us!” Liza cried suddenly, like a 
mad creature. ‘‘Come away, come away! To the woods, to 
the fields ! ”’ 

And she ran back. 

*‘ Lizaveta Nikolaevna, this is such cowardice,’’ cried Pyotr 
Stepanovitch, running after her. ‘‘ And why don’t you want him 
to see you? On the contrary, you must look him straight in 
the face, with pride... . If it’s some feeling about that... 
some maidenly . . . that’s such a prejudice, so out of date. ... 
But where are you going? Where are you going? Ech! she 
isrunning! Better go back to Stavrogin’s and take my droshky. 
. . . Where are you going? That’s the way to the fields! 
There! She’sfallendown!...” 

He stopped. Liza was flying along like a bird, not conscious 
where she was going, and Pyotr Stepanovitch was already fifty 
paces behind her. She stumbled over a mound of earth and 
felldown. At the same moment there was the sound of a terrible 
shout from behind. It came from Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who 
had seen her flight and her fall, and was running to her across > 
the field. In a flash Pyotr Stepanovitch had retired into 
Stavrogin’s gateway to make haste and get into his droshky. 

Mavriky Nikolaevitch was already standing in terrible alarm 
by Liza, who had risen to her feet; he was bending over her 
and holding her hands in both of his. All the incredible surround- 
ings of this meeting overwhelmed him, and tears were rolling 
down his cheeks. He saw the woman for whom he had such 
reverent devotion running madly across the fields, at such an 
hour, in such weather, with nothing over her dress, the gay dress 
she wore the day before now crumpled and muddy from her 
fall. . . . He could not utter a word; he took off his great- 
coat, and with trembling hands put it round her sleoulders. 
Suddenly he uttered a cry, feeling that she had pressed her lips 
to his hand. 

** Liza,” he cried, “I am no good for anything, but don’t 
drive me away from you!” 

“Oh, no! Let us make haste away from here. Don’t leave 
me !”’ and, seizing his hand, she drew him after her. ‘‘ Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch,” she suddenly dropped her voice timidly, ‘‘ I kept 
2 bold face there all the time, but now I am afraid of death. 


b) 


A ROMANCE ENDED 503 


I shall die soon, very soon, but I am afraid, I am afraid to 
die . . .” she whispered, pressing his hand tight. 

“Oh, if there were some one,” he looked round in despair. 
‘Some passer-by! You will get your feet wet, you... will 
lose your reason ! ”’ 

“It’s all right; it’s all right,” she tried to reassure him. 
“That’s right. I am not so frightened with you. Hold my 
hand, lead me. ... Where are we going now? Home? 
No! I want first to see the people who have been murdered. 
His wife has been murdered they say, and he says he killed 
her himself. But that’s not true, is it? I want to see for 
myself those three who’ve been killed ...on my account 
. . . it’s because of them his love for me has grown cold since 
last night. ...I shall see and find out everything. Make 
haste, make haste, I know the house . . . there’s a fire there. 
_,.. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, my dear one, don’t forgive me in 
my shame! Why forgive me? Why are you crying? Give 
me a blow and kill me here in the field, like a dog!” 

““No one is your judge now,” Mavriky Nikolaevitch pro- 
nounced firmly. ‘‘ God forgive you. I least of all can be your 
judge.” 

But it would be strange to describe their conversation. And 
meanwhile they walked hand in hand quickly, hurrying as though 
they were crazy. They were going straight towards the fire. 
Mavriky Nikolaevitch still had hopes of meeting a cart at least, 
but no one came that way. A mist of fine, drizzling rain 
enveloped. the whole country, swallowing up every ray of light, 
every gleam of colour, and transforming everything into one 
smoky, leaden, indistinguishable mass. It had long been 
daylight, yet it seemed as though it were still night. And 
suddenly in this cold foggy mist there appeared coming towards 
them a strange and absurd figure. Picturing it now I think I 
should not have believed my eyes if I had been in Lizaveta 
Nikolaevna’s place, yet she uttered a cry of joy, and recognised 
the approaching figure at once. It was Stepan Trofimovitch. 
How he had gone off, how the insane, impracticable idea of his 
flight came to be carried out, of that later. I will only mention 
that he was in a fever that morning, yet even illness dia not 
- prevent his starting. He was walking resolutely on the damp 
ground. It was evident that he had planned the enterprise 
to the best of his ability, alone with his inexperience and lack 
of practical sense. He wore “ travelling dress,” that is, a 


504 THE POSSESSED 


greatcoat with a wide patent-leather belt, fastened with a buckle, 
and a pair of new high boots pulled over his trousers. Probably 
he had for some time past pictured a traveller as looking like 
this, and the belt and the high boots with the shining tops like 
a hussar’s, in which he could hardly walk, had been ready some 
time before. A broad-brimmed hat, a knitted scarf, twisted 
close round his neck, a stick in his right hand, and an exceedingly 
small but extremely tightly packed bag in his left, completed 
his get-up. He had, besides, in the same right hand, an open 
umbrella. These three objects—the umbrella, the stick, and the 
bag—had been very awkward to carry for the first mile, and 
had begun to be heavy by the second. 

‘Can it really be you?” cried Liza, looking at him with 
distressed wonder, after her first rush of instinctive gladness. 

‘* Tvse,”’ cried Stepan Trofimovitch, rushing to her almost 
in delirium too. ‘“‘ Chére, chére. . . . Can you be out, too... 
in suchafog? You see the glow of fire. Vous étes malheureuse, 
n’est-ce pas? Isee, 1 see. Don’t tell me, but don’t question me 
either. Nous sommes tous malheureux mais tl faut les pardonner 
tous. Pardonnons, Lise, and let us be free for ever. To be 
quit of the world and be completely free. Jl faut pardonner, 
pardonner, et pardonner !” 

‘“‘ But why are you kneeling down ?” 

““ Because, taking leave of the world, I want to take leave 
of all my past in your person!” He wept and raised both her 
hands to his tear-stained eyes. ‘‘ I kneel to all that was beautiful 
in my hfe. I kiss and give thanks! Now I’ve torn myself in 
half; left behind a mad visionary who dreamed of soaring to 
the sky. Vingt-deux ans, here. A shattered, frozen old man. 
A tutor chez ce marchand, s°il existe pourtant ce marchand. .. . 
But how drenched you are, Lise /” he cried, jumping on to his 
feet, feeling that his knees too were soaked by the wet earth. 
*‘ And how is it possible ... you are in such a dress. . 
and on foot, and in these fields? ... You are crying! Vous 
étes malheureuse. Bah, I did hear something. . . . But where 
have you come from now?” He asked hurried questions with an 
uneasy air, looking in extreme bewilderment at Mavriky Nikolae- 
vitch. ‘* Mais savez-vous Vheure qu'il est ?” 

““Stepan Trofimovitch, have you heard anything about the 
people who’ve been murdered? ...Is it true? Is it true?” 

“These people! I saw the glow of their work all night. 
They were bound to end in this. ...” His eyes flashed again. 


A ROMANCE ENDED 505 


**T am fleeing away from madness, from a delirious) dream, 
I am fleeing away to seek for Russia. Hwiste-t-elle, la Russie ? 
Bah! Crest vous, cher capitaine! Tve never doubted that I 
should meet you somewhere on some high adventure. ... 
But take my umbrella, and—why must you be on foot? For 
God’s sake, do at least take my umbrella, for I shall hire a carriage 
somewhere in any case. I am on foot because Stasie (1 mean, 
Nastasya) would have shouted for the benefit of the whole street 
if she’d found out I was going away. Sol slipped away as far 
as possible incognito. I don’t know; in the Voice they. write of 
there being brigands everywhere, but I thought surely I shouldn’t 
meet a brigand the moment I came out on the road. Chére Lise, 
I thought you said something of some one’s being murdered. 
Oh, mon Dieu! You are ill!” 

““Come along, come along!” cried Liza, almost in hysterics, 
drawing Mavriky Nikolaevitch after her again. “‘ Wait a 
minute, Stepan Trofimovitch !” she came back suddenly to him.’ 
‘“‘ Stay, poor darling, let me sign you with the cross. Perhaps, 
it would be better to put you under control, but I’d rather make 
the sign of the cross over you. You, too, pray for ‘ poor’ Liza— 
just a little, don’t bother too much about it. Mavriky Nikolae- 
vitch, give that baby back his umbrella. You must give it him. 
That’s right. . . . Come, let us go, let us go!” 

They reached the fatal house at the very moment when the 
huge crowd, which had gathered round it, had already heard a 
good deal of Stavrogin, and of how much it was to his interest 
to murder his wife. Yet, I repeat, the immense majority went 
on listening without moving or uttering a word. The only people 
who were excited were bawling drunkards and excitable indi- 
viduals of the same sort as the gesticulatory cabinet-maker. 
Every one knew the latter as a man really of mild disposition, 
but he was liable on occasion to get excited and to fly off at a 
tangent if anything struck him in a certain way. I did not see 
Liza and Mavriky Nikolaevitch arrive. Petrified with amaze- 
ment, I first noticed Liza some distance away in the crowd, and 
I did not at once catch sight of Mavriky Nikolaevitch. I fancy 
there was a moment when he fell two or three steps behind 
her or was pressed back by the crush. Liza, forcing her way 
through the crowd, seeing and noticing nothing round her, 
like one in a delirium, like a patient escaped from a hospital, 
attracted attention only too quickly, of course. There arose a hub- 
bub of loud talking and at last sudden shouts. Someone bawled 


506 THE POSSESSED 


out, “ It’s Stavrogin’s woman!’ And on the other side, “ It’s 
not enough to murder them, she wants to look at them!” 
All at once I saw an arm raised above her head from behind and 
suddenly brought down upon it. Liza fell to the ground. We 
heard a fearful scream from Mavriky Nikolaevitch as he dashed to 
her assistance and struck with all his strength the man who stood 
between him and Liza. But at that instant the same cabinet- 
maker seized him with both arms from behind. For some 
minutes nothing could be distinguished in the scrimmage that 
followed. I believe Liza got up but was knocked down by 
another blow. Suddenly the crowd parted and a small space 
was left empty round Liza’s prostrate figure, and Mavriky 
Nikolaevitch, frantic with grief and covered with blood, was 
standing over her, screaming, weeping, and wringing his hands. 
I don’t remember exactly what followed after ; I only remember 
that they began to carry Liza away. I ran after her. She was 
still alive and perhaps still conscious. The cabinet-maker 
and three other men in the crowd were seized. These three still 
deny having taken any part in the dastardly deed, stubbornly 
maintaining that they have been arrested by mistake. Perhaps 
it's the truth. Though the evidence against the cabinet-maker 
is clear, he is so irrational that he is still unable to explain what 
happened coherently. I too, as a spectator, though at some 
distance, had to give evidence at the inquest. I declared that 
it had all happened entirely accidentally through the action of 
men perhaps moved by ill-feeling, yet scarcely conscious of what 
they were doing—drunk and irresponsible. I am of that opinion 
to this day. | 


CHAPTER IV 
THE LAST RESOLUTION 
I 


THAT morning many people saw Pyotr Stepanovitch. All who 
saw him remembered that he was in a particularly excited state. 
At two o’clock he went to see Gaganov, who had arrived from 
the country only the day before, and whose house was full of 
visitors hotly discussing the events of the previous day. Pyotr 
Stepanovitch talked more than anyone and made them listen 
to him. He was always considered among us as a “ chatterbox 
of a student with a screw loose,’ but now he talked of Yulia 
Mihailovna, and in the general excitement the theme was an 
enthralling one. As one who had recently been her intimate 
and confidential friend, he disclosed many new and unexpected 
details concerning her ; incidentally (and of course unguardedly) 
he repeated some of her own remarks about persons known to 
all in the town, and thereby piqued their vanity. He dropped 
it all in a vague and rambling way, like a man free from guile 
driven by his sense of honour to the painful necessity of clearing 
up a perfect mountain of misunderstandings, and so simple- 
hearted that he hardly knew where to begin and where to leave 
off. He let slip in a rather unguarded way, too, that Yulia 
Mihailovna knew the whole secret of Stavrogin and that she 
had been at the bottom of the whole intrigue. She had taken 
him in too, for he, Pyotr Stepanovitch, had also been in love 
with this unhappy Liza, yet he had been so hoodwinked that 
he had almost taken her to Stavrogin himself in the carriage. 
*“ Yes, yes, it’s all very well for you to laugh, gentlemen, but if 
only ?’d known, if I’'d known how it would end !”’ he concluded. 
To various excited inquiries about Stavrogin he bluntly replied 
that in his opinion the catastrophe to the Lebyadkins was a pure 
coincidence, and that it was all Lebyadkin’s own fault for dis- 
playing his money. He explained this particularly well. One of 
his listeners observed that it was no good his “* pretending ” ; that 
he had eaten and drunk and almost slept at Yulia Mihailovna’s, 


yet now he was the first to blacken her character, and that 
507 


508 THE POSSESSED 


this was by no means such a fine thing to do as he supposed. 
But Pyotr Stepanovitch immediately defended himself. 

‘“‘T ate and-drank there not because I had no money, and it’s 
not my fault that I was invited there. Allow me to judge for 
myself how far I need to be grateful for that.” _ 

The general impression was in his favour. “He may be 
rather absurd, and of course he is a nonsensical fellow, yet still 
he is not responsible for Yulia Mihailovna’s foolishness. On 
the contrary, it appears that he tried to stop her.” 

About two o’clock the news suddenly came that Stavrogin, 
about whom there was so much talk, had suddenly left for 
Petersburg by the midday train. This interested people 
immensely ; many of them frowned. Pyotr Stepanovitch was 
so much struck that I was told he turned quite pale and cried 
out strangely, ‘‘ Why, how could they have let him go?” He 
hurried away from Gaganov’s forthwith, yet he was seen in two 
or three other houses. | 

Towards dusk he succeeded in getting in to see Yulia Mihailovna 
though he had the greatest pains to do so, as she had absolutely 
refused to see him. I heard of this from the lady herself only 
three weeks afterwards, just before her departure for Petersburg. 
She gave me no details, but observed with a shudder that ‘* he 
had on that occasion astounded her beyond all belief.” IT imagine 
that all he did was to terrify her by threatening to charge her 
with being an accomplice if she “ said anything.” The necessity 
for this intimidation arose from his plans at the moment, of 
which she, of course, knew nothing; and only later, five days 
afterwards, she guessed why he had been so doubtful of her 
reticence and so afraid of a new outburst of indignation on her 
part. 

Between seven and eight o’clock, when it was dark, all the five 
members of the quintet met together at Ensign Erkel’s lodgings 
in a little crooked house at the end of the town. The meeting 
had been fixed by Pyotr Stepanovitch himself, but he was unpar- 
donably late, and the members waited over an hour for him, 
This Ensign Erkel was that young officer who had sat the whole 
evening at Virginsky’s with a pencil in his hand and a notebook 
before him. He had not long been in the town ; he lodged alone 
with two old women, sisters, in a secluded by-street and was 
shortly to leave the town ; a meeting at his house was less likely 
to attract notice than anywhere. This strange boy was distin- 
guished by extreme taciturnity: he was capable of sitting for 


THE LAST RESOLUTION 509 


a dozen evenings in succession in noisy company, with the most 
extraordinary conversation going on around him, without uttering 
a word, though he listened with extreme attention, watching 
the speakers with his childlike eyes. His face was very pretty 
and even had a certain look of cleverness. He did not belong 
to the quintet; it was supposed that he had some special job 
of a purely practical character. It is known now that he had 
nothing of the sort and probably did not understand his position 
himself. It was simply that he was filled with hero-worship 
for Pyotr Stepanovitch, whom he had only lately met. If he 
had met a monster of iniquity who had incited him to found a 
band of brigands on the pretext of some romantic and socialistic 
object, and as a test had bidden him rob and murder the first 
peasant he met, he would certainly have obeyed and done it. 
_ He had an invalid mother to whom he sent half of his scanty 
pay—and how she must have kissed that poor little flaxen head, 
how she must have trembled and prayed over it! I go into these 
details about him because I feel very sorry for him. 

** Our fellows ’ were excited. The events of the previous night 
had made a great impression on them, and I fancy they were in 
a panic. The simple disorderliness in which they had so zealously 
and systematically taken part had ended in a way they had not 
expected. ‘The fire in the night, the murder of the Lebyadkins, 
the savage brutality of the crowd with Liza, had been a series of 
surprises which they had not anticipated in their programme. 
They hotly accused the hand that had guided them of despotism 
and duplicity. In fact, while they were waiting for Pyotr 
Stepanovitch they worked each other up to such a point that 
they resolved again to ask him for a definite explanation, and if — 
he evaded again, as he had done before, to dissolve the quintet 
and to found instead a new secret society “‘ for the propaganda 
of ideas ”’ and on their own initiative on the basis of democracy 
and equality. Liputin, Shigalov, and the authority on the 
peasantry supported this plan ; Lyamshin said nothing, though 
he looked approving. Virginsky hesitated and wanted to hear 
Pyotr Stepanovitch first. It was decided to hear Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch, but still he did not come; such casualness added fuel to 
the flames. Erkel was absolutely silent and did nothing but 
order the tea, which he brought from his landladies in glasses 
on a tray, not bringing in the samovar nor allowing the servant 
to enter. 

Pyotr Stepanovitch did not turn up till half-past eight, With 


510 THE POSSESSED 


rapid steps he went up to the circular table before the sofa 
round which the company were seated; he kept his cap in his 
hand and refused tea. He looked angry, severe, and supercilious. 
He must have observed at once from their faces that they were 
** mutinous.”’ 

‘* Before I open my mouth, you’ve got something hidden; 
out with it.” | 

Liputin began “in the name of all,’’ and declared in a voice 
quivering with resentment ‘that if things were going on like 
that they might as well blow their brains out.’? Oh, they were 
not at all afraid to blow their brains out, they were quite ready 
to, in fact, but only to serve the common cause (a general move- 
ment of approbation). So he must be more open with them 
so that they might always know beforehand, “‘ or else what would 
things be coming to?” (Again a stir and some guttural sounds.) 
To behave like this was humiliating and dangerous. ‘‘ We don’t 
say so because we are afraid, but if one acts and the rest are only 
pawns, then one would blunder and all would be lost.’”? (Exclama- 
tions. ‘‘ Yes, yes.”? General approval.) 

“Damn it all, what do you want ? ”’ 

“What connection is there between the common cause and 
the petty intrigues of Mr. Stavrogin ?”’ cried Liputin, boiling © 
over. ‘‘ Suppose he is in some mysterious relation to the centre, 
if that legendary centre really exists at all, it’s no concern of 
ours. And meantime a murder has been committed, the police 
have been roused; if they follow the thread they may find 
what it starts from.” 

“Tf Stavrogin and you are caught, we shall be caught too,” 
added the authority on the peasantry. 

‘‘ And to no good purpose for the common cause,” Virginsky 
concluded despondently. 

‘“ What nonsense! The murder is a chance crime; it was 
committed by Fedka for the sake of robbery.” 

‘“H’m! Strange coincidence, though,” said Liputin, wriggling. 

“* And if you will have it, it’s all through you.” 

* Through us ? ” 

‘In the first place, you, Liputin, had a share in the intrigue 
yourself ; and the second chief point is, you were ordered to get 
Lebyadkin away and given money to do it; and what did you 
do? If you’d got him away nothing would have happened,” 

“But wasn’t it you yourself who suggested the idea that it 
would be a good thing to set him on to read his verses ? ”’ 


¢ 


THE LAST RESOLUTION 511 


** An idea is not a command. The command was to get him 
away.” 

“Command! Rather a queer word. ... On the contrary, 
your orders were to delay sending him off.” 

‘You made a mistake and showed your foolishness and self- 
will. The murder was the work of Fedka, and he carried it out 
alone for the sake of robbery. You heard the gossip and believed 
it. You were scared. Stavrogin is not such a fool, and the 
proof of that is he left the town at twelve o’clock after an inter- 
view with the vice-governor ; if there were anything in it they 
would not let him go to Petersburg in broad daylight.” 

“But we are not making out that Mr. Stavrogin committed 
the murder himself,” Liputin rejoined spitefully and uncere- 
moniously. ‘‘He may have known nothing about it, like me; 
and you know very well that I knew nothing about it, though 
I am mixed up in it like mutton in a hash.” 

‘* Whom are you accusing ?”’ said Pyotr Stepanovitch, looking 
at him darkly. 

‘“‘ Those whose interest it is to burn down towns.” 

“You make matters worse by wriggling out of it. However, 

won’t you read this and pass it to the others, simply as a fact of 
interest ? ” 
_ He pulled out of his pocket Lebyadkin’s anonymous letter to 
Lembke and handed it to Liputin. The latter read it, was 
evidently surprised, and passed it thoughtfully to his neighbour ; 
the letter quickly went the round. 

‘* Ts that really Lebyadkin’s handwriting ? ” observed Shigalov. 

“Tt is,” answered Liputin and Tolkatchenko (the authority 
on the peasantry). 

‘“‘T simply brought it as a fact of interest and because I knew 
you were so sentimental over Lebyadkin,”’ repeated Pyotr 
Stepanovitch, taking the letter back. ‘‘ So it turns out, gentle- 
men, that a stray Fedka relieves us quite by chance of a dangerous 
man. That’s what chance does sometimes! It’s instructive, 
isn’t it?” 

The members exchanged rapid glances. 

‘And now, gentlemen, it’s my turn to ask questions,” said 
Pyotr Stepanovitch, assuming an air of dignity. ‘‘ Let me know 
- what business you had to set fire to the town without permission.” 

‘What's this! We, we set fire to the town? That is laying 
the blame on others ! ’’ they exclaimed. 

“JT quite understand that you carried the game too far,” 


b) 


512 3 THE POSSESSED 


Pyotr Stepanovitch persisted stubbornly, “‘ but it’s not a matter 
of petty scandals with Yulia Mihailovna. Ive brought you here, 
gentlemen, to explain to you the greatness of the danger you have 
so stupidly incurred, which is a menace to much besides 
yourselves.” | 

‘*‘ Excuse me, we, on the contrary, were intending just now to 
point out to you the greatness of the despotism and unfairness 
you have shown in taking such a serious and also strange step 
without consulting the members,” Virginsky, who had been 
hitherto silent, protested, almost with indignation. 

“And so you deny it? But I maintain that you set fire to 
the town, you and none but you. Gentlemen, don’t tell lies ; 
I have good evidence. By your rashness you exposed the common 
cause to danger. You are only one knot in an endless network 
of knots—and your duty is blind obedience to the centre. Yet 
three men of you incited the Shpigulin men to set fire to the 
town without the least instruction to do so, and the fire has 
taken place.” 

‘“ What three? What three of us?” 

‘The day before yesterday, at three o’clock in the night, you, 
Tolkatchenko, were inciting Fomka Zavyalov at the ‘ Forget- © 
me-not.’ ”’ 

‘‘Upon my word! ”’ cried the latter, jumping up, ‘I scarcely 
said a word to him, and what I did say was without intention, 
simply because ke had been flogged that morning. And I 
dropped it at once; I saw he was too drunk. If you had not 
referred to it I should not have thought of it again. A word could 
not set the place on fire.” 

‘“You are like a man who should be surprised that a tiny 
spark could blow a whole powder magazine into the air.” 

‘¢T spoke in a whisper in his ear, in a corner; how could you 
have heard of it?” 7 

Tolkatchenko reflected suddenly. 

“I was sitting there under the table. Don’t disturb your- 
selves, gentlemen; I know every step you take. You smile 
sarcastically, Mr. Liputin? But I know, for instance, that 
you pinched your wife black and blue at midnight, three days 
ago, in your bedroom as you were going to bed.” 

Liputin’s mouth fell open and he turned pale. (It was after- 
wards found out that he knew of this exploit of Liputin’s from 
Agafya, Liputin’s servant, whom he had paid from the beginning 
to spy on him; this only came out later.) 


THE LAST RESOLUTION 513 


‘ May I state a fact ?”’ said Shigalov, getting up. 

** State it.” 

Shigalov sat down and pulled himself together. 

** So far as I understand—and it’s impossible not to understand 
it—you yourself at first and a second time later, drew with 
great eloquence, but too theoretically, a picture of Russia 
covered with an endless network of knots. Each of these 
centres of activity, proselytising and ramifying endlessly, aims 
by systematic denunciation to injure the prestige of local autho- 
rity, to reduce the villages to confusion, to spread cynicism and 
scandals, together with complete disbelief in everything and an 
eagerness for something better, and finally, by means of fires, 
as a pre-eminently national method, to reduce the country at a 
given moment, if need be, to desperation. Are those your words 
_- which I tried to remember accurately ? Is that the programme 
you gave us as the authorised representative of the central 
committee, which is to this day utterly unknown to us and 
almost like a myth?” 

‘“* It’s correct, only you are very tedious.” 

‘Every one has a right to express himself in his own way. 
Giving us to understand that the separate knots of the general 
network already covering Russia number by now several hundred, 
and propounding the theory that if every one does his work 
successfully, all Russia at a given moment, ata signal .. .” 

‘** Ah, damn it all, I have enough to do without you!” cried 
Pyotr Stepanovitch, twisting in his chair. 

‘“‘ Very well, I'll cut it short and I'll end simply by asking if 
we've seen the disorderly scenes, we’ve seen the discontent 
of the people, we’ve seen and taken part in the downfall of local 
administration, and finally, we’ve seen with our own eyes the 
town on fire? What do you find amiss? Isn’t that your 
programme ? What can you blame us for ?”’ 

‘‘ Acting on your own initiative!” Pyotr Stepanovitch cried 
furiously. ‘‘ While I am here you ought not to have dared 
to act without my permission. Enough. We are on the eve 
of betrayal, and perhaps to-morrow or to-night you'll be seized. 
So there. I have authentic information.” 

At this all were agape with astonishment. 

‘‘ You will be arrested not only as the instigators of the fire, 
but as a quintet. The traitor knows the whole secret of the 
network. So you see what a mess you’ve made of it!” 

‘“‘Stavrogin, no doubt,” cried Liputin. 

2K. 


514 THE POSSESSED 


‘““What ... why Stavrogin?’ Pyotr Stepanovitch seemed 
suddenly taken aback. ‘“‘ Hang it all,” he cried, pulling himself 
together at once, “it’s Shatov! I believe you all know now 
that Shatov in his time was one of the society. 1 must tell you 
that, watching him through persons he does not suspect, I found 
out to my amazement that he knows all about the organisation 
of the network and . . . everything, in fact. To save himself 
from being charged with having formerly belonged, he will give 
information against all. He has been hesitating up till now 
and I have spared him. Your fire has decided him : he is shaken | 
and will hesitate no longer. To-morrow we shall be arrested 
as incendiaries and political offenders.” 

‘Ts it true? How does Shatov know ?” 

The excitement was indescribable. 

‘It’s all perfectly true. I have no right to reveal the source 
from which I learnt it or how I discovered it, but I tell you 
what I can do for you meanwhile: through one person I can 
act on Shatov so that without his suspecting it he will put off 
giving information, but not more than for twenty-four hours. Z 

All were silent. 

“We really must send him to the devil!” Tolkatchenko was 
the first to exclaim. 

‘It ought to have been done long ago,’? Lyamshin put in 
malignantly, striking the table with his fist. 

‘* But how is it to be done ?”’ muttered Liputin. 

Pyotr Stepanovitch at once took up the question and unfolded 
his plan. The plan was the following day at nightfall to draw 
Shatov away to a secluded spot to hand over the secret printing 
press which had been in his keeping and was buried there, and 
there “‘ to settle things.’’ He went into various essential details 
which we will omit here, and explained minutely Shatov’s present 
ambiguous attitude to the central society, of which the reader 
knows already. 

‘“That’s all very well,” Liputin observed irresolutely, ‘‘ but 
since it will be another adventure . . . of the same sort... it 
wili make too great a sensation.” 

‘‘ No doubt,” assented Pyotr Stepanovitch, “‘ but I’ve provided 
against that. We have the means of averting suspicion com- 
pletely.” 

And with the same minuteness he told them about Kirillov, 
of his intention to shoot himself, and of his promise to wait for 
a signal from them and to leave a letter behind him taking on 


THE LAST RESOLUTION 515 


himself anything they dictated to him (all of which the reader 
knows already). 

“His determination to take his own life—a philosophic, or 
as I should call it, insane decision—has become known there” 
Pyotr Stepanovitch went on to explain. ‘‘ There not a thread, 
not a grain of dust is overlooked ; everything is turned to the 
service of the cause. Foreseeing how useful it might be and 
satisfying themselves that his intention was quite serious, they 
had offered him the means to come to Russia (he was set for some 
reason on dying in Russia), gave him a commission which he 
promised to carry out (and he had done so), and had, moreover, 
bound him by a promise, as you already know, to commit 
suicide only when he was told to. He promised everything. 
You must note that he belongs to the organisation on a par- 
ticular footing and is anxious to be of service ; more than that 
I can’t tell you. To-morrow, after Shatov’s affair, Vil dictate 
a note to him saying that he is responsible for his death. That 
will seem very plausible: they were friends and travelled 
together to America, there they quarrelled; and it will all be 
explained in the letter... and... and perhaps, if it seems 
feasible, we might dictate something more to Kirillov—something 
about the manifestoes, for instance, and even perhaps about the 
fire. But Vl think about that. You needn’t worry yourselves, 
he has no prejudices ; he’ll sign anything.” 

There were expressions of doubt. It sounded a fantastic story. 
But they had all heard more or less about Kirillov ; Liputin 
more than all. 

‘“*He may change his mind and not want to,” said Shigalov ; 
“ he is a madman anyway, so he is not much to build upon.” 

‘** Don’t be uneasy, gentlemen, he will want to,” Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch snapped out. ‘‘I am obliged by our agreement to give 
him warning the day before, so it must be to-day. I invite 
Liputin to go with me at once to see him and make certain, 
and he will tell you, gentlemen, when he comes back—to-day if 
need be—whether what I say is true. However,” he broke off 
suddenly with intense exasperation, as though he suddenly felt 
he was doing people like them too much honour by wasting 
time in persuading them, “‘ however, do as you please. If you 
don’t decide to do it, the union is broken up—but solely through » 
your insubordination and treachery. In that case we are all 
independent from this moment. But under those circumstances, 
besides the unpleasantness of Shatov’s betrayal and its conse- 


516 THE POSSESSED 


quences, you will have brought upon yourselves another little 
unpleasantness of which you were definitely warned when the 
union was formed. ‘As far as I am concerned, I am not much 
afraid of you, gentlemen. ... Don’t imagine that I am so 
involved with you... . But that’s no matter.” 
‘* Yes, we decide to do it,” Liputin pronounced. 
_ “ There’s no other way, out of it,’ muttered Tolkatchenko, 
“and if only Liputin confirms about Kirillov, then... 
“JT am against it; with all my, soul and strength I protest 
against such a murderous decision,” said Virginsky, standing up. 
‘“‘ But?” asked Pyotr Stepanovitch. ... 


“ But what,?,” | 

“You said but... and I,am waiting.” 

*‘T don’t think I did say but ....I only meant to say that 
if you decide to do it, then ....” 

rdhem'? ” 


Virginsky did not answer. 

“I, think that one is at liberty to neglect danger to one’s 
own life,’ said Erkel, suddenly opening his mouth, ‘“‘ but if it may 
injure the cause, then I consider one ought not to dare to neglect 
danger to one’s life... .”’ 

He broke off in confusion, blushing. Absorbed as they all 
were in their own ideas, they all looked at him in amazement— 
it was such a surprise that he too could speak, 

‘““T am for the cause,”’ Virginsky pronounced suddenly. 

Every one got up. It was decided to communicate once 
more and make final arrangements at midday on the morrow, 
though without meeting. The place where the printing press 
was hidden was announced and each was assigned his part and 
his duty. Liputin and, Pyotr Stepanovitch promptly set off 
together to Kirillov. 


{I 


All our fellows believed that Shatov was going to betray them ; 
but they also believed that Pyotr Stepanovitch was playing with 
them like pawns. And yet they knew, too, that in any case 
they would all meet on the spot next day and that Shatov’s fate 
was sealed. They suddenly felt like flies caught in a web by a 
huge spider; they were furious, but they were trembling. with 
terror. 7 | 


THE LAST RESOLUTION 517 


Pyotr Stepanovitch, of course, had treated them badly; it 
might all have gone off far more harmoniously and easily if he 
had taken the trouble to embellish the facts ever so little. Instead 
of putting the facts in a decorous light, as an exploit worthy of 
ancient Rome or something of the sort, he simply appealed to 
their animal fears and laid stress on the danger to their own skins, 
which was simply insulting ; of course there was a struggle for 
existence in everything and there was no other principle in 
nature, they all knew that, but still... 

But Pyotr Stepanovitch had no time to trot out the Romans ; 
he was completely thrown out of his reckoning. Stavrogin’s 
fight had astounded and crushed him. It was a lie when he 
said that Stavrogin had seen the vice-governor; what worried 
Pyotr Stepanovitch was that Stavrogin had gone off without 
seeing anyone, even his mother—and it was certainly strange 
that he had been allowed to leave without hindrance. (The 
authorities were called to account for it afterwards.) Pyotr 
Stepanovitch had: been making inquiries all day, but so far had 
found out nothing, and he had never been so upset. And how 
could he, how could he give up Stavrogin all at once like this! 
That was why he could not be very tender with the quintet. 
Besides, they tied his hands: he had already decided to gallop 
after Stavrogin at once; and meanwhile he was detained by 
Shatov; he had to cement the quintet together once for all, 
in case of emergency.  ‘‘ Pity to waste them, they might be of 
use.” That, I imagine, was his way of reasoning. 

As for Shatov, Pyotr Stepanovitch was firmly convinced that 
he would betray them. All that he had told the others about 
it was a lie: he had never seen the document nor heard of it, 
but he thought it as certain as that twice two makes four. It 
seemed to him that what had happened—the death of Liza, the 
death of Marya Timofyevna—would be too much for Shatov, 
and that he would make up his mind at once. Who knows ? 
perhaps he had grounds for supposing it. It is known, too, 
that he hated Shatov personally ; there had at some time been 
a quarrel between them, and Pyotr Stepanovitch never forgave 
an offence. I am convinced, indeed, that this was his leading 

motive. 
- We have narrow brick pavements in our town, and in some 
streets only raised wooden planks instead of a pavement. Pyotr 
Stepanovitch walked in the middle of the pavement, taking up 
the whole of it, utterly regardless of Liputin, who had no room 


— ~618 THE POSSESSED 


to walk beside him and so had to hurry a step behind or run in 
the muddy road if he wanted to speak to him. Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch suddenly remembered how he had lately splashed through 
the mud to keep pace with Stavrogin, who had walked, as he 
was doing now, taking up the whole pavement. He recalled 
the whole scene, and rage choked him. 

But Liputin, too, was choking with resentment. Pyotr 
Stepanovitch might treat the others as he liked, but him! Why, 
he knew more than all the rest, was in closer touch with the work 
and taking more intimate part in it than anyone, and hitherto 
his services had been continual, though indirect. Oh, he knew 
that even now Pyotr Stepanovitch might ruin him if it came 
to the worst. But he had long hated Pyotr Stepanovitch, and 
not because he was a danger but because of his overbearing 
manner. Now, when he had to make up his mind to such a 
deed, he raged inwardly more than all the rest put together. 
Alas! he knew that next day “like a slave’ he would be the 
first on the spot and would bring the others, and if he could 
somehow have murdered Pyotr Stepanovitch before the morrow, 
without ruining himself, of course, he would certainly have 
murdered him. ¢ 

Absorbed in his sensations, he trudged dejectedly after his — 
tormentor, who seemed to have forgotten his existence, though 
he gave him a rude and careless shove with his elbow now and 
then. Suddenly Pyotr Stepanovitch halted in one of the prin- 
cipal thoroughfares and went into a restaurant. 

‘What are you doing ?”’ cried Liputin, boiling over. ‘This 
is a restaurant.” 

“T want a beefsteak.” 

“Upon my word! It is always full of people.” 

“ What if it is ?”’ 

“But ... we shall be late. It’s ten o’clock already.” 

** You can’t be too late to go there.”’ 

** But I shall be late! They are expecting me back.” 

“Well, let them; but it would be stupid of you to go to 
them. With all your bobbery I’ve had no dinner. And the 
later you go to Kirillov’s the more sure you are to find him.”’ 

Pyotr Stepanovitch went to a room apart. Liputin sat in 
an easy chair on one side, angry and resentful, and watched him 
eating. Half an hour and more passed. Pyotr Stepanovitch 
did not hurry himself; he ate with relish, rang the bell, asked 
for a different kind of mustard, then for beer, without saying a 


THE LAST RESOLUTION 519 


word to Liputin. He was pondering deeply. He was capable 
of doing two things at once—eating with relish and pondering 
deeply. Liputin loathed him so intensely at last that he could 
not tear himself away. It was like a nervous obsession. He 
counted every morsel of beefsteak that Pyotr Stepanovitch 
put into his mouth; he loathed him for the way he opened it, 
for the way he chewed, for the way he smacked his lips over the 
fat morsels, he loathed the steak itself. At last things began 
to swim before his eyes; he began to feel slightly giddy; he 
felt hot and cold run down his spine by turns. 

‘“* You are doing nothing ; read that,’ said Pyotr Stepanovitch 
suddenly, throwing him a sheet of paper. Liputin went nearer 
to the candle. The paper was closely covered with bad hand- 
writing, with corrections in every line. By the time he had 
mastered it Pyotr Stepanovitch had paid his bill and was ready 
to go. When they were on the pavement Liputin handed him 
back the paper. 

“Keep it; DH tell you afterwards. ... What do you say 
to it, though ? ” 

Liputin shuddered all over. 

“In my opinion... such a manifesto . .. is nothing but 
a ridiculous absurdity.” 

His anger broke out ; he felt as though he were being caught 
up and carried along. 

“‘ If we decide to distribute such manifestoes,”’ he said, quivering 
all over, “‘ we'll make ourselves contemptible by our stupidity 
and incompetence.” 

“A’m! Ithink differently,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, walking 
on resolutely. 

“So dol; surely it isn’t your work ?”’ 

**That’s not your business.” 

“‘{ think too that doggerel, ‘A Noble Personality,’ is the 
most utter trash possible, and it couldn’t have been written by 
Herzen.” 

‘You are talking nonsense ; it’s a good poem.” 

*‘T am surprised, too, for instance,” said Liputin, still dashing 
along with desperate leaps, “‘ that it is suggested that we should 
act so as to bring everything to the ground. It’s natural in 
Europe to wish to destroy everything because there’s a prole- 
tariat there, but we are only amateurs here and in my opinion 
are only showing off.” 

‘“‘T thought you were a Fourierist.” 


520 THE POSSESSED 


“Fourier says something quite different, quite different.” 

“I know it’s nonsense.” 

‘‘ No, Fourier isn’t nonsense. . . . Excuse me, I can’t believe 
that there will be a rising in May.” 

Liputin positively unbuttoned his coat, he was so hot. 

“ Well, that’s enough; but now, that I mayn’t forget it,” 
said Pyotr Stepanovitch, pasring with extraordinary coolness 
to another subject, “ you will have to print this manifesto with 
your own hands. We're going to dig up Shatov’s printing press, 
and you will take it to-morrow. As quickly as possible you 
must print as many copies as you can, and then distribute them 
all the winter. The means will be provided. You must do 
as many copies as possible, for you'll be asked for them from 
other places.” 

“No, excuse me; I can’t undertake such a . . . I decline.” 

“You'll take it all the same. Iam acting on the instructions 
of the central committee, and you are bound to obey.” 

‘‘ And I consider that our centres abroad have forgotten what 
Russia is like and have lost all touch, and that’s why they talk 
such nonsense. . . . I even think that instead of many hundreds 
of quintets in Russia, we are the only one that exists, and there 
is no network at all,’ Liputin gasped finally. 

‘The more contemptible of you, then, to run after the cause 
without believing in it . . . and you are running after me now 
like a mean little cur.” 

“No, ?m not. We have a full right to break off and found a 
new society.” 

“Fool!” Pyotr Stepanovitch boomed at him threateningly 
all of a sudden, with flashing eyes. ? 

They stood facing one another for some time. Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch turned and parsued his way confidently. 

The idea flashed through Liputin’s mind, “‘ Turn and go back ; 
if IT don’t turn now I shall never go back.’’ He pondered this 
for ten steps, but at the eleventh a new and desperate idea flashed 
into his mind: he did not turn and did not go back. 

They were approaching Filipov’s house, but before reaching 
it they turned down a side street, or, to be more accurate, an 
inconspicuous path under a fence, so that for some time they had 
to walk along a steep slope above a ditch where they could not 
keep their footing without holding the fence. At a dark corner 
in the slanting fence Pyotr Stepanovitch took out a plank, 
leaving a gap, through which he promptly scrambled. Liputin 


THE LAST RESOLUTION 521 


was surprised, but he crawled through after him; then they 
replaced the plank after them. This was the secret way by which 
Fedka used to visit Kirillov. 

“ Shatov mustn’t know that we are here,” Pyotr Stepanovitch 
whispered sternly to Liputin. 


Tht 


Kirillov was sitting on his leather sofa drinking tea, as he 
always was at that hour. He did not get up to meet them, but 
gave a sort of start and looked at the new-comers anxiously. 

“You are not mistaken,”’ said Pyotr Stepanovitch, “‘ it’s just 
that I’ve come about.” 

To-day 2” 

“No, no, to-morrow . . . about thistime.’’ And he hurriedly 
sat down at the table, watching Kirillov’s agitation with some 
uneasiness. But the latter had already regained his composure 
and locked as usual. 

“These people still refuse to believe in you. You are not 
vexed at my bringing Liputin ? ”’ 

“To-day I am not vexed; to-morrow I want to be alone.” 

** But not before I come, and therefore in my presence.” 

**I should prefer not in your presence.” 

“You remember you promised to write and to sign all I 
dictated.”’ 

“I don’t care. And now will you be here long ?”’ 

** J have to see one man and to remain half an hour, so whatever 
you say I shall stay that half-hour.” 

Kirillov did not speak. Liputin meanwhile sat down on one 
side under the portrait of the bishop. That last desperate idea 
gained more and more possession of him. Kirillov scarcely 
noticed him. Liputin had heard of Kirillov’s theory before and 
always laughed at him; but now he was silent and looked 
gloomily round him. 

‘““T’ve no objection to some tea,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
moving up. “I’ve just had some steak and was reckoning on 
getting tea with you.”’ 

** Drink it. You can have some if you like.”’ 

*“You used to offer it to me,’ observed Pyotr Stepanovitch 
sourly. 


522 THE POSSESSED 


“‘That’s no matter. Let Liputin have some too.” 

SiNop DL wridscan'ts? 

“Don’t want to or can’t ?”’ said Pyotr Stepanovitch, turning 
quickly to him. 

‘““T am not going to here,” Liputin said expressively. 

Pyotr Stepanovitch frowned. 

“‘ There’s a flavour of mysticism about that ; goodness knows 
what to make of you people !”’ 

No one answered ; there was a full minute of silence. 

‘“* But I know one thing,”’ he added abruptly, “‘ that no super- 
stition will prevent any one of us from doing his duty.” 

‘“‘ Has Stavrogin gone ?”’ asked Kirillov. 

€é Yes.”’ 

“* He’s done well.” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch’s eyes gleamed, but he restrained himself. 

“TI don’t care what you think as long as every one keeps his 
word.’ 

“Tl keep my word.” 

“TI always knew that you would do your duty like an shee 
pendent and progressive man.’ 

*‘ You are an absurd fellow.” 

“That may be; I am very glad to amuse you. I am always © 
glad if I can give people pleasure.”’ 

** You are very anxious I should shoot myself and are afraid 
I might suddenly not ?”’ 

“ Well, you see, it was your own doing—connecting your plan 
with our work. Reckoning on your plan we have already done 
something, so that you couldn’t refuse now because you've let 
us in for it.” 

‘You've no claim at all.” 

““I understand, I understand; you are perfectly free, 
and we don’t come in so long as your free intention is carried 
out.” 

“And am I to take on myself all the nasty things you’ve 
done ?”’ 

** Listen, Kirillov, are you afraid? If you want to cry off, 
say so at once.” 

“TI am not afraid.” 

““T ask because you are making so many inquiries.”’ 

** Are you going soon ?”’ 

“ Asking questions again ?”’ 

Kirillov scanned him contemptuously. 


THE LAST RESOLUTION 523 


“You see,” Pyotr Stepanovitch went on, getting angrier and 
angrier, and unable to take the right tone, “‘ you want me to 
go away, to be alone, to concentrate yourself, but all that’s a 
bad sign for you—for you above all. You want to think a 
great deal. To my mind you'd better not think. And really 
you make me uneasy.” 

“There’s only one thing I hate, that at such a moment I 
should have a reptile like you beside me.’ 

‘Oh, that doesn’t matter. I'll go away at the time and stand 
on the steps if you like. If you are so concerned about trifles 
when it comes to dying, then . . . it’s alla very bad sign. I'll 
go out on to the steps and you can imagine I know nothing about 
it, and that I am a man infinitely below you.” 

“No, not infinitely ; you've got abilities, but there’s a lot 
you don’t understand because you are a low man.”’ 

** Delighted, delighted. I told you already I am delighted to 
provide entertainment . . . at such a moment.” 

“You don’t understand anything.”’ 

“That is, I. . . well, I listen with respect, anyway.” 

“You can do nothing ; even now you can’t hide your petty 
spite, though it’s not to your interest to show it. You'll make 
me cross, and then I may want another six months.” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch looked at his watch. 

** T never understood your theory, but I know you didn’t invent 
it for our sakes, so I suppose you would carry it out apart from 
us. And I know too that you haven’t mastered the idea but 
the idea has mastered you, so you won't put it off.” 

“What? The idea has mastered me ?”’ 

6c Yes.’’ 

“And not I mastered the idea? That’s good. You have 
a little sense. Only you tease me and I am proud.” 

‘“‘'That’s a good thing, that’s a good thing. Just what you 
need, to be proud.” 

‘Enough. You’ve drunk your tea; go away.” 

‘* Damn it all, I suppose I must’”’—Pyotr Stepanovitch got 
up—‘‘ though it’s early. Listen, Kirillov. Shall I find that 
man—you know whom I mean—at Myasnitchiha’s? Or has 
she too been lying ? ” 

‘“‘ You won’t find him, because he is here and not there.” 

*‘Here! Damn it all, where ?” 

“* Sitting in the kitchen, eating and drinking.” 

‘“‘ How dared he ?” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, flushing angrily. 


524 THE ‘POSSESSED 


“It was his duty to wait... what nonsense! He has no 
passport, no money !”’ | | 

‘““T don’t know. He came to say good-bye; he is dressed 
and ready. He is going away and won't come back. He says 
you are a scoundrel and he doesn’t want to wait for your 
money.” 

“Haha! Heisafraid that ll... Butevennowlcan... 
if . . . Where is he, in the kitchen ?”’ 

Kirillov opened a side door into a tiny dark room ; from this 
room three steps led straight to the part of the kitchen where 
the cook’s bed was usually put, behind the partition. Here, in 
the corner under the ikons, Fedka was sitting now, at a bare 
deal table. Before him stood a pint bottle, a plate of bread, and 
some cold beef and potatoes on an earthenware dish. He was 
eating in a leisurely way and was already half drunk, but he 
was wearing his sheep-skin coat and was evidently ready for a 
journey. A samovar was boiling the other side of the screen, 
but it was not for Fedka, who had every night for a week or 
more zealously blown it up and got it ready for “‘ Alexey Nilitch, 
for he’s such a habit of drinking tea at nights.’’ I am strongly 
disposed to believe that, as Kirillov had not a cook, he had 
cooked the beef and potatoes that morning with his own hands 
for Fedka. 

‘“‘ What notion is this ?’”’ cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, whisking 
into the room. “Why didn’t you wait where you were 
ordered ?”’ ! boars 

And swinging his fist, he brought it down heavily on the table. 

Fedka assumed an air of dignity. 

“You wait a bit, Pyotr Stepanovitch, you wait a bit,’ he 
began, with a swaggering emphasis on each word, “‘ it’s your first 
duty to understand here that you are on a polite visit to Mr. 
Kirillov, Alexey Nilitch, whose boots you might clean any day, 
because beside you he is a man of culture and you are only— 
foo!” 

And he made a jaunty show of spitting to one side. Haughti- 
ness and determination were evident in his manner, and a certain 
very threatening assumption of argumentative calm that. sug- 
gested an outburst to follow. But Pyotr Stepanovitch had no 
time to realise the danger, and it did not fit in with his precon- 
ceived ideas. The incidents and disasters of the day had quite 
turned his head. Liputin, at the top of the three steps, stared 
inquisitively down from the little dark room. 


THE LAST RESOLUTION 525 


“Do you or don’t you want a trustworthy passport and good 
money to go where you've been told ?., Yes or no ?”’ 

“ D’you see, Pyotr. Stepanovitch, you’ve been deceiving me 
from the first, and so you’ve been a regular scoundrel to me. 
For all the world like a filthy human. louse—that’s how I look 
on you. You've promised me a lot of money for shedding 
innocent blood and swore it was for Mr. Stavrogin, though it 
turns out to be nothing. but your want of breeding. I didn’t 
get a farthing out of it, let alone fifteen hundred, and Mr. Stav- 
rogin hit you in the face, which has come to our ears. Now 
you are threatening me again and promising me money—what 
for, you don’t say. And I shouldn’t wonder if you are sending 
me to Petersburg to plot some revenge in your spite against 
Mr. Stavrogin, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, reckoning’ on my 
simplicity. And that proves you are the chief murderer. .And 
do you know what you deserve for the very fact that in the 
depravity of your heart you’ve given up believing in God Him- 
self, the true Creator ? You are no better than an idolater and 
aré on a level with the Tatar and the Mordva. Alexey Nilitch, 
who is a philosopher, has expounded the true God, the Creator, 
many a time to you, as well as the creation of the world.and the 
fate that’s to come and the transformation of every sort, of 
creature and every sort of beast out of the Apocalypse, but 
you ve persisted like a senseless idol in your deafness and your 
dumbness. and have brought Ensign Erkel to the same, like 
the veriest, evil seducer and so-called atheist... .” 

“Ah, you drunken dog! He strips the ikons of their setting 
and then preaches about God !”’ 

‘“‘ D’you see, Pyotr Stepanovitch, I tell you truly that I have 
stripped the ikons, but I only took out the pearls ; and how do 
you know? Perhaps my own tear was transformed into a, pearl 
in the furnace of the Most High to make up for my sufferings, 
seeing I am just that very orphan, having no daily refuge. Do 
you know from the books that once, in ancient times, a merchant 
with just such tearful sighs and prayers stole a pearl from the 
halo of the Mother of God, and afterwards, in the face of all 
the people, laid the whole price of it at her feet, and the Holy 
Mother sheltered him with her mantle before all the people, 
so that it was a miracle, and the command was given through 
the authorities to write it alldown word for word in the Imperial 
books. And you let.a mouse in, so you insulted the very throne 
of God. And if you were not my natural master, whom I dandled 


526 THE POSSESSED 


in my arms when I was a stripling, I would have done for you 
now, without budging from this place!” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch flew into a violent rage. 

‘Tell me, have you seen Stavrogin to-day ?” 

“Don’t you dare to question me. Mr. Stavrogin is fairly 
amazed at you, and he had no share in it even in wish, let alone 
instructions or giving money. You’ve presumed with me.” 

‘You'll get the money and you'll get another two thousand 
in Petersburg, when you get there, in a lump sum, and you'll 
get more.” 

“You are lying, my fine gentleman, and it makes me laugh 
to see how easily you are taken in. Mr. Stavrogin stands at 
the top of the ladder above you, and you yelp at him from below 
like a silly puppy dog, while he thinks it would be doing you 
an honour to spit at you.” 

““ But do you know,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch in a rage, 
“that I won’t let you stir a step from here, you scoundrel, 
and I’ll hand you straight over to the police.” 

Fedka leapt on to his feet and his eyes gleamed with fury. 
Pyotr Stepanovitch pulled out hisrevolver. Then followed a rapid 
and revolting scene: before Pyotr Stepanovitch could take aim, 
Fedka swung round and in a flash struck him on the cheek with 
all his might. Then there was the thud of a second blow, a 
third, then a fourth, all on the cheek. Pyotr Stepanovitch 
‘was dazed ; with his eyes starting out of his head, he muttered 
something, and suddenly crashed full length to the ground. 

‘* There you are ; take him,” shouted Fedka with a triumphant 
swagger ; he instantly took up his cap, his bag from under the 
bench, and was gone. Pyotr Stepanovitch lay gasping and 
unconscious. Liputin even imagined that he had been murdered. 
Kirillov ran headlong into the kitchen. 

‘““ Water!’ he cried, and ladling some water in an iron dipper 
from a bucket, he poured it over the injured man’s head. Pyotr 
Stepanovitch stirred, raised his head, sat up, and looked blankly 
about him. 

‘““ Well, how are you ?”’ asked Kirillov. Pyotr Stepanovitch 
looked at him intently, still not recognising him; but seeing 
Liputin peeping in from the kitchen, he smiled his hateful smile 
and suddenly got up, picking up his revolver from the floor. 

“Tf you take it into your head to run away to-morrow like 
that scoundrel Stavrogin,” he cried, pouncing furiously on 
Kirillov, pale, stammering, and hardly able to articulate his 


THE LAST RESOLUTION 527 


words, “I'll hang you... like a fly ...or crush you... 
if it’s at the other end of the world . . . do you understand !”’ 

And he held the revolver straight at Kirillov’s head; but 
almost at the same minute, coming completely to himself, he 
drew back his hand, thrust the revolver into his pocket, and 
without saying another word ran out of the house. Liputin 
followed him. They clambered through the same gap and again 
walked along the slope holding to the fence. Pyotr Stepanovitch 
strode rapidly down the street so that Liputin could scarcely 
keep up with him. At the first crossing he suddenly stopped. 

“Well?” He turned to Liputin with a challenge. 

Liputin remembered the revolver and was still trembling 
all over after the scene he had witnessed ; but the answer seemed 
to come of itself irresistibly from his tongue : 

“I think’... Ithink that...” : 

“Did you see what Fedka was drinking in the kitchen ?”’ 

** What he was drinking ? He was drinking vodka.” 

‘“‘ Well then, let me tell you it’s the last time in his life he 
will drink vodka. I recommend you to remember that and 
reflect on it. And now go to hell; you are not wanted till 
to-morrow. But mind now, don’t be a fool!” 

Liputin rushed home full speed. 


IV 


He had long had a passport in readiness made out in a false 
name. It seems a wild idea that this prudent little man, the 
petty despot of his family, who was, above all things, a sharp 
man of business and a capitalist, and who was an official too 
(though he was a Fourierist), should long before have conceived 
the fantastic project of procuring this passport in case of emer- 
gency, that he might escape abroad by means of it if . . . he 
did admit the possibility of this if, though no doubt he was 
never able himself to formulate what this 7f might mean. 

But now it suddenly formulated itself, and in a most unexpected 
way. That desperate idea with which he had gone to Kirillov’s 

-after that ‘‘ fool’? he had heard from Pyotr Stepanovitch on 
the pavement, had been to abandon everything at dawn next 
day and to emigrate abroad. If anyone doubts that such 
fantastic incidents occur in everyday Russian life, even now, 


§28 | THE POSSESSED 


let him look into the biographies of all the Russian exiles abroad. 
Not one of them escaped with more wisdom or real justification. 
It has always been the unrestrained domination of phantoms and 
nothing more, 

Running home, he began by locking himself in, getting out 
his travelling bag, and feverishly beginning to pack. His chief 
anxiety was the question of money, and how much he could 
rescue from the impending ruin—and by what means. He 
thought of it as “‘ rescuing,’’ for it seemed to him that he could 
not linger an hour, and that by daylight he must be on the high 
road. He did not know where to take the train either; he 
vaguely determined to take it at the second or third big station 
from the town, and to make his way there on foot, if necessary. 
In that way, instinctively and mechanically he busied himself 
in his packing with a perfect whirl of ideas in his head—and 
suddenly stopped short, gave it all up, and with a deep groan 
stretched himself on the sofa. 

He felt clearly, and suddenly realised that he might escape, 
but that he was by now utterly incapable of deciding whether 
he ought to make off before or after Shatov’s death ; that he was 
simply a lifeless body, a crude inert mass; that he was being 
moved by an awful outside power; and that, though he had a» 
passport to go abroad, that though he could run away from 
Shatov (otherwise what need was there of such haste ?), yet 
he would run away, not from Shatov, not before his murder, 
but after it, and that that was determined, signed, and sealed. 

In insufferable distress, trembling every instant and wondering 
at himself, alternately groaning aloud and numb with terror, 
he managed to exist till eleven o’clock next. morning locked in 
and lying on the sofa; then came the shock he was awaiting, 
and it at once determined him. When he unlocked his door and 
went out to his household at eleven o’clock they told him that. 
the runaway convict and brigand, Fedka, who was a terror to 
every one, who had pillaged churches and only lately been guilty 
of murder and arson, who was being pursued and could not be 
captured by our police, had been found at daybreak murdered, 
five miles from the town, at a turning off the high road, and that 
the whole town was talking of it already. He rushed headlong 
out of the house at once to find out further details, and learned, 
to begin with, that Fedka, who had been found with his skuH 
broken, had apparently been robbed and, secondly, that the 
police already had strong suspicion and even good grounds for 


THE LAST RESOLUTION 529 


believing that the murderer was one of the Shpigulin men called 
Fomka, ‘the very one who had been his accomplice in murdering 
the Lebyadkins and setting fire to their house, and that there 
had been a quarrel between them on the road about a large sum 
of money stolen from Lebyadkin, which Fedka was supposed 
to have hidden. Liputin ran to Pyotr Stepanovitch’s lodgings 
and succeeded in learning at the back door, on the sly, that 
though Pyotr Stepanovitch had not returned home till about 
one o'clock at night, he had slept there quietly all night till 
eight o’clock next morning. Of course, there could be no doubt 
that there was nothing extraordinary about Fedka’s death, and 
that such careers usually have such an ending ; but the coincidence 
of the fatal words that “it was the last time Fedka would drink 
vodka,’ with the prompt fulfilment of the prediction, was so 
remarkable that Liputin no longer hesitated. The shock had 
been given; it was as though a stone had fallen upon him and 
crushed him for ever. Returning home, he thrust his travelling- 
bag under the bed without a word, and in the evening at the 
hour fixed he was the first to appear at the appointed spot to 
meet Shatov, though it’s true he still had his passport in his 
pocket. 


2u 


CHAPTER V 
A WANDERER 


I 


TuE catastrophe with Liza and the death of Marya Timofyevna 
made an overwhelming impression on Shatov. I have already 
mentioned that that morning 1 met him in passing; he seemed 
to me not himself. He told me among other things that on the 
evening before at nine o’clock (that is, three hours before the 
fire had broken out) he had been at Marya Timofyevna’s. He 
went in the morning to look at the corpses, but as far as 1 know 
gave no evidence of any sort that morning. Meanwhile, towards 
the end of the day there was a perfect tempest in his soul, and... 
I think I can say with certainty that there was a moment at 
dusk when he wanted to get up, go out and tell everything. 
What that everything was, no one but he could say. Of course 
he would have achieved nothing, and would have simply betrayed 
himself. He had no proofs whatever with which to convict - 
the perpetrators of the crime, and, indeed, he had nothing but 
vague conjectures to go upon, though to him they amounted to 
complete certainty. But he was ready to ruin himself if he could 
only ‘“‘ crush the scoundrels ’’—his own words. Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch had guessed fairly correctly at this impulse in him, and he 
knew himself that he was risking a great deal in putting off the 
execution of his new awful project till next day. On his side there 
was, as usual, great self-confidence and contempt for all these 
‘“‘ wretched creatures’ and for Shatov in particular. He had for 
years despised Shatov for his ‘‘ whining idiocy,” as he had expressed 
it in former days abroad, and he was absolutely confident that 
he could deal with such a guileless creature, that is, keep an eye 
on him all that day, and put a check on him at the first sign of 
danger. Yet what saved “‘ the scoundrels ’ for a short time was 
something quite unexpected which they had not foreseen... . 
Towards eight o’clock in the evening (at the very time when 
the quintet was meeting at Erkel’s, and waiting in indignation 
and excitement for Pyotr Stepanovitch) Shatov was lying in the 
dark on his bed with a headache and a slight chill; he was 
tortured by uncertainty, he was angry, he kept making up his 
530 


A WANDERER 531 


mind, and could not make it up finally, and felt, with a curse, 
that it would all lead to nothing. Gradually he sank into a brief 
doze and had something like a nightmare. He dreamt that he 
was lying on his bed, tied up with cords and unable to stir, and 
meantime he heard a terrible banging that echoed all over the 
house, a banging on the fence, at the gate, at his door, in Kirillov’s 
lodge, so that the whole house was shaking, and a far-away 
familiar voice that wrung his heart was calling to him piteously. 
He suddenly woke and sat upin bed. To his surprise the banging 
at the gate went on, though not nearly so violent as it had 
seemed in his dream. ‘The knocks were repeated and persistent, 
and the strange voice “that wrung his heart’”’ could still be 
heard below at the gate, though not piteously but angrily and 
impatiently, alternating with another voice, more restrained and 
ordinary. He jumped up, opened the casement pane and put 
his head out. 

‘“ Who’s there ? ” he called, literally numb with terror. 

“If you are Shatov,”’ the answer came harshly and resolutely 
from below, “‘ be so good as to tell me straight out and honestly 
whether you agree to let me in or not ?”’ 

It was true: he recognised the voice ! 

“Marie! ... Isit you?” Abt 

“Yes, yes, Marya Shatov, and I assure you I can’t keep the 
driver a minute longer.” 

“This minute ... ll get a candle,” Shatov cried faintly. 
Then he rushed to look for the matches. The matches, as always 
happens at such moments, could not be found. He dropped the 
candlestick and the candle on the floor and as soon as he heard 
the impatient voice from below again, he abandoned the search 
and dashed down the steep stairs to open the gate. 

‘Be so good as to hold the bag while I settle with this block- 
head,” was how Madame Marya Shatov greeted him below, and 
she thrust into his hands a rather light cheap canvas handbag 
studded with brass nails, of Dresden manufacture. She attacked 
the driver with exasperation. 

“ Allow me to tell you, you are asking too much. If you’ve 
been driving me for an extra hour through these filthy streets, 
that’s your fault, because it seems you didn’t know where 
to find this stupid street and imbecile house. Take your thirty | 
kopecks and make up your mind that you'll get nothing 


more.” 
‘“ Ech, lady, you told me yourself Voznesensky Street and thir 


532 THE POSSESSED 


is Bogoyavlensky ;, Voznesensky is ever so far away. You" ve 
simply put the horse into a steam.” 

‘“‘ Voznesensky, Bogoyavlensky—you ought to know all shine 
stupid names better than I do, as you are an inhabitant ; besides, 
you are unfair, I told you first of all Filipov’s house and you 
declared you knew it. In any case you can have me up 
to-morrow in the local court, but now I beg you to let me alone.” 

‘‘ Here, here’s another five kopecks.”’ With eager haste Shatov 
pulled a five-kopeck piece out of his pocket and gave it to the 
driver. 

‘Do me a favour, I beg you, don’t dare to do that ! ” Madame 
Shatov flared up, but the driver drove off and Shatov, taking her 
hand, drew her through the gate. 

““Make haste, Marie, make haste ... that’s no matter, 
and ... you are wet through. Take care, we go up here— 
how sorry I am there’s no light—the stairs are steep, hold tight, 
hold tight! Well, this is my room. Excuse my having no light. 

« . One minute ! ”’ 

He picked up the candlestick but it was a long time before the 
matches were found. Madame Shatov stood waiting in the 
middle of the room, silent and motionless. 

‘“Thank God, here they are at last!’ he cried joyfully, 
lighting up the room. Marya Shatov took a cursory survey of 
his abode. 

‘‘They told me you lived in a poor way, but I didn’t expect 
it to be as bad as this,”’ she pronounced with an air of disgust, and 
she moved towards the bed. 

** Oh, I am tired!” she sat down on the hard bed, with an 
exhausted air. ‘‘ Please put down the bag and sit down on the 
chair yourself. Just as you like though; you are in the way 
standing there. I have come to you for a time, till I can get 
work, because I know nothing of this place and I have no money. 
But if I shall be in your way I beg you again, be so good as to tell 
me so at once, as you are bound to do if you are an honest man. 
I could sell something to-morrow and pay for a room at an hotel, 
but you must take me to the hotel yourself. ... Oh, but I 
am tired ! ”’ 

Shatov was all of a tremor. 

‘You mustn’t, Marie, you mustn’t go to an hotel? An hotel! 
What for ? What for?” 

He clasped his hands imploringly. . 

“ Well, if I can get on without the hotel . . I must, anyway, 


A WANDERER 533 


explain the position. Remember, Shatov, that we lived in 
Geneva as man and wife for a fortnight and a few days; it’s 
three years since we parted, without any particular quarrel 
though. But don’t imagine that I’ve come back to renew any 
of the foolishness of the past. I’ve come back to look for work, 
and that I’ve come straight to this town is just because it’s 
all the same to me. I’ve not come to say I am sorry for anything 

please don’t imagine anything so stupid as that.” 

“Qh, Marie! This is unnecessary, quite unnecessary,” 
Shatov muttered vaguely. : 

“Tf so, if you are so far developed as to be able to understand 
that, I may allow myself to add, that if I’ve come straight to you 
now and am in your lodging, it’s partly because I always thought 
you were far from being a scoundrel and were perhaps much 
better than other . . . blackguards! ”’ 

Her eyes flashed. She must have had to bear a great Ceal 
at the hands of some “‘ blackguards.”’ 

*““ And please believe me, I wasn’t laughing at you just now 
when I told you you were good. I spoke plainly, without fine 
phrases and I can’t endure them. But that’s all nonsense. I 
always hoped you would have sense enough not to pester me... . 
Enough, I am tired.”’ 

And she bent on him a long, harassed and weary gaze. Shatov 
stood facing her at the other end of the room, which was five paces 
away, and listened to her timidly with a look of new life and 
unwonted radiance on his face. This strong, rugged man, all 
bristles on the surface, was suddenly all softness and shining 
gladness. There was a thrill of extraordinary and unexpected 
feeling in his soul. Three years of separation, three years of the 
broken marriage had effaced nothing from his heart. And 
perhaps every day during those three years he had dreamed 
of her, of that beloved being who had once said to him, “I 
love you.” Knowing Shatov I can say with certainty that he 
could never have allowed himself even to dream that a woman 
might say to him, “I love you.” He was savagely modest and 
chaste, he looked on himself as a perfect monster, detested 
his own face as well as his character, compared himself to some 
freak only fit to be exhibited at fairs. Consequently he valued 
honesty above everything and was fanatically devoted to his — 
convictions; he was gloomy, proud, easily moved to wrath, 
and sparing of words. But here was the one being who had 
loved him for a fortnight (that he had never doubted, never !), 2 


534 THE POSSESSED 


being he had always considered immeasurably above him in . 
spite of his perfectly sober understanding of her errors; a being 
to whom he could forgive everything, everything (of that there 
could be no question; indeed it was quite the other way, his idea 
was that he was entirely to blame); this woman, this Marya 
Shatov, was in his house, in his presence again .. . it was 
almost inconceivable! He was so overcome, there was so 
much that was terrible and at the same time so much happiness ° 
in this event that he could not, perhaps would not—perhaps 
was afraid to—realise the position. It wasadream. But when 
she looked at him with that harassed gaze he suddenly understood 
that this woman he loved so dearly was suffering, perhaps had 
been wronged. His heart went cold. He looked at her features 
with anguish: the first bloom of youth had long faded from 
this exhausted face. It’s true that she was still good-looking— 
in his eyes a beauty, as she had always been. In reality she was 
a woman of twenty-five, rather strongly built, above the medium 
height (taller than Shatov), with abundant dark brown hair, a pale 
oval face, and large dark eyes now glittering with feverish 
brilliance. But the light-hearted, naive and good-natured 
energy he had known so well in the past was replaced now by a 
sullen irritability and disillusionment, a sort of cynicism which was 
not yet habitual to her herself, and which weighed upon her. But 
the chief thing was that she was ill, that he could see clearly. 
In spite of the awe in which he stood of her he suddenly went up . 
to her and took her by both hands. 

‘“‘Marie .. . you know .. . you are very tired, perhaps, for 
God’s sake, don’t be angry. . . . If you’d consent to have some 
tea, for instance, eh ? Tea picks one up so, doesn’t it ? If you’d 
consent ! ”’ 

“Why talk about consenting! Of course I consent, what a 
baby you are still. Get me some if you can. How cramped you 
are here. How cold itis!” 

“Oh, Pll get some logs for the fire directly, some logs ... 
I’ve got logs.” Shatov was all astir. “Logs... that is 
. . . but Pll get tea directly,” he waved his hand as though with 
desperate determination and snatched up his cap. 

** Where are you going ? So you’ve no tea in the house ?” 

** There shall be, there shall be, there shall be, there shall be 
everything directly. ...I1.. .” he took his revolver from the 
shelf, ‘‘ I'll sell this revolver directly . . . or pawnit. .. .” 

‘‘What foolishness and what a time that will take! Take 


A WANDERER 535 


my money if you’ve nothing, there’s eighty kopecks here, I think ; 
that’s all I have. This is like a madhouse.”’ 

‘| don’t want your money, I don’t want it I’ll be here directly, 
in one instant. I can manage without the revolver. .. .” 

And he rushed straight to Kirillov’s. This was probably two 
hours before the visit of Pyotr Stepanovitch and Liputin to 
Kirillov. Though Shatov and Kirillov lived in the same yard 
they hardly ever saw each other, and when they met they did not 
nod or speak: they had been too long “‘ lying side by side”’ in 
America... . 

“ Kirillov, you always have tea; have you got tea and a 
samovar ? ”’ 

Kirillov, who was walking up and down the room, as he was in 
the habit of doing all night, stopped and looked intently at his 

hurried visitor, though without much surprise. 
“Pye got tea and sugar and a samovar. But there’s no 
need of the samovar, the tea is hot. Sit down and simply 
drink it.” 

“* Kirillov, we lay side by side in America. . . . My wife has 
come tome ...I... give me the tea. . . . I shall want the 
samovar.”’ 

“If your wife is here you want the samovar. But take it 
later. I’ve two. And now take the teapot from the table. It’s 
hot, boiling hot. Take everything, take the sugar, all of it. 
Bread . . . there’s plenty of bread; allofit. ‘There’s some veal. 
I’ve a rouble.” 

“Give it me, friend, Pll pay it back to-morrow! Ach, 
Kirillov ! ”’ 

‘Ts it the same wife who was in Switzerland? That’s a good 
thing. And your running in like this, that’s a good thing too.” 

* Kirillov ! ”? cried Shatov, taking the teapot under his arm and 
carrying the bread and sugar in both hands. “ Kirillov, if... 
if you could get rid of your dreadful fancies and give up your 
atheistic ravings . . . oh, what a man you’d be, Kirillov!”’ 

‘One can see you love your wife after Switzerland. It’s a 
good thing you do—after Switzerland. When you want tea, 
come again. You can come all night, I don’t sleep at all. 
There’ll be a samovar. Take the rouble, here it is. Go to your 
wife, I’ll stay here and think about you and your wife.” 

Marya Shatov was unmistakably pleased at her husband’s 
haste and fell upon the tea almost greedily, but there was no 
need to run for the samovar; she drank only half a cup and 


536 THE POSSESSED 


swallowed a tiny piece of bread. The veal she refused with 
disgust and irritation. 

‘* Youareill, Marie, all this is a sign of illness,” Shatov remarked 
timidly as he waited upon her. 

‘Of course I’m ill, please sit down. Where did you get the 
tea if you haven’t any ?” 

Shatov told her about Kirillov briefly. She had heard some- 
thing of him. : 

‘I know he is mad; say no more, please; there are plenty 
of fools. So you’ve been in America? I heard, you wrote.” 

“Yes, I. . . I wrote to you in Paris.” 

‘* Enough, please talk of something else. Are you a Slavo- 
phil in your convictions ? ”’ 

“T...ITamnotexactly. . .. Since I cannot be a Russian, 
I became a Slavophil.” He smiled a wry smile with the effort 
of one who feels he has made a strained and inappropriate jest. 

‘Why, aren’t you a Russian ? ”’ 

** No, I’m not.” 

** Well, that’s all foolishness. Do sit down, I entreat you. 
Why are you all over the place? Do you think I am light- 
headed ? Perhaps I shall be. You say there are only you two 
in the house.” 

“Yes. . . . Downstairs ... 

“And both such clever people. What is there downstairs ? 
You said downstairs ?”’ 

** No, nothing.” 

“Why nothing ? I want to know.” 

““T only meant to say that now we are only two in the yard, 
but that the Lebyadkins used to live downstairs. . . .” 

‘That woman who was murdered last night?” she started 
suddenly. ‘“‘I heard of it. I heard of it as soon as I arrived. 
There was a fire here, wasn’t there ? ” 

“Yes, Marie, yes, and perhaps I am doing a scoundrelly thing 
this moment in forgiving the scoundrels. ...’ He stood up 
suddenly and paced about the room, raising his arms as though 
in a frenzy. 

But Marie had not quite understood him. She heard his 
answers inattentively ; she asked questions but did not listen. 

‘Fine things are being done among you! Oh, how con- 
temptible it all is! What scoundrels men all are! But do 
sit down, I beg you, oh, how you exasperate me!” and she let 
ber head sink on the pillow, exhausted. 


99 


A WANDERER 537 


** Marie, I won’t. . . . Perhaps you'll lie down, Marie ?” 

She made no answer and closed her eyes helplessly. Her pale 
face looked death-like. She fell asleep almost instantly. Shatov 
looked round, snuffed the candle, looked uneasily at her face once 
more, pressed his hands tight in front of him and walked on tiptoe 
out of the room into the passage. At the top of the stairs he 
stood in the corner with his face to the wall and remained so for 
ten minutes without sound or movement. He would have 
stood there longer, but he suddenly caught the sound of soft 
cautious steps below. Some one was coming up the stairs. 
Shatov remembered he had forgotten to fasten the gate. 

‘Who's there?” he asked in a whisper. The unknown 
visitor went on slowly mounting the stairs without answering. 
When he reached the top he stood still ; it was impossible to see 
his face in the dark; suddenly Shatov heard the cautious 
question : 

**Tvan Shatov ?”’ 

Shatov said who he was, but at once held out his hand to check 
his advance. The latter took his hand, and Shatov shuddered 
as though he had touched some terrible reptile. 

‘“‘ Stand here,’’ he whispered quickly. ‘Don’t go in, I can’t 
receive you just now. My wife has come back. I'll fetch the 
candle.” 

When he returned with the candle he found a young officer 
standing there; he did not know his name but he had seen him 
before. 

‘* Erkel,”’ said the lad, introducing himself. ‘‘ You’ve seen me 
at Virginsky’s.” 

‘“T remember; you sat writing. Listen,” said Shatov in 
sudden excitement, going up to him frantically, but still talking 


in a whisper. ‘‘ You gave me a sign just now when you took 
my hand. But you know I can treat all these signals with con- 
tempt! I don’t acknowledge them. ...Idon’twantthem.... 


I can throw you downstairs this minute, do you know that ?” 
“No, I know nothing about that and I don’t know what you 
are in such a rage about,” the visitor answered without malice 
and almostingenuously. ‘‘ Ihave only to give you a message, and 
that’s what I’ve come for, being particularly anxious not to lose 
time. You have a printing press which does not belong to you, 
and of which you are bound to give an account, as you know 
yourself, I have received instructions to request you to give it up 
to-morrow at seven o’clock in the evening to Liputin. I have 


538 THE POSSESSED 


been instructed to tell you also that nothing more will be asked 
of you.” 


‘* Nothing ? ” 

*‘ Absolutely nothing. Your request is granted, and you 
are struck off our list. I was instructed to tell you that posi- 
tively.” 

‘* Who instructed you to tell me ? ”’ 

‘** Those who told me the sign.” 

‘** Have you come from abroad ? ” 

“T ... I think that’s no matter to you.” 

‘** Oh, hang it! Why didn’t you come before if you were 
told to?” 

‘« T followed certain instructions and was not alone.” 

‘**T understand, I understand that you were not alone. Eh 
. -. hang it! But why didn’t Liputin come himself ? ” 

‘So I shall come for you to-morrow at exactly six o’clock in 


the evening, and we'll go there on foot. There will be no one 
there but us three.” 


** Will Verhovensky be there ? ” 

‘No, he won’t, Verhovensky is leaving the town at eleven 
o’clock to-morrow morning.” 

** Just what I thought!’ Shatov whispered furiously, and 
he struck his fist on his hip. ‘* He’s run off, the sneak! ” 

He sank into agitated reflection. Erkel looked intently at 
him and waited in silence. 

* But how will you take it? You can’t simply pick it up in 
your hands and carry it.’’ 

‘There will be no need to. You'll simply point out the place 
and we'll just make sure that it really is buried there. We only 
know whereabouts the place is, we don’t know the place itself. 
And have you pointed the place out to anyone else yet ?”’ 

Shatov looked at him. 

‘You, you, a chit of a boy like you, a silly boy like you, you 
too have got caught in that net likeasheep? Yes, that’s just the 
young blood they want! Well, goalong. E-ech! that scoundrel’s 
taken you all in and run away.” 

Erkel looked at him serenely and calmly but did not seem to 
understand. 


** Verhovensky, Verhovensky has run away !”’ Shatov growled 
fiercely. | 


** But he is still here, he is not gone away. He is not going 
til to-morrow,” Erkel observed softly and persuasively. “I 


A WANDERER 539 


particularly begged him to be present as a witness ; my instruc- 
tions all referred to him (he explained frankly like a young and 
inexperienced boy). But I regret to say he did not agree on the 
ground of his departure, and he really is in a hurry.” 

Shatov glanced compassionately at the simple youth again, 
but suddenly gave a gesture of despair as though he thought 
““ they are not worth pitying.”’ 

“All right, Pll come,” he cut him short. ‘ And now get 
away, be off.” 

“So Vl come for you at six o’clock punctually.’’ Erkel 
made a courteous bow and walked deliberately downstairs. 

“Little fool!” Shatov could not help shouting after him 
from the top. 

‘* What is it ? ” responded the lad from the bottom. 

‘“* Nothing, you can go.”’ 

* I thought you said something.” 


II 


Erkel was a “ little fool? who was only lacking in the higher 
form of reason, the ruling power of the intellect; but of the 
lesser, the subordinate reasoning faculties, he had plenty—even 
to the point of cunning. Fanatically, childishly devoted to 
‘‘ the cause ” or rather in reality to Pyotr Verhovensky, he acted 
on the instructions given to him when at the meeting of the 
quintet they had agreed and had distributed the various duties 
for the next day. When Pyotr Stepanovitch gave him the job 
of messenger, he succeeded in talking to him aside for ten 
minutes. 

A craving for active service was characteristic of this shallow, 
unrefiecting nature, which was for ever yearning to follow the 
lead of another man’s will, of course for the good of ‘‘ the com- 
mon ” or “ the great’ cause. Not that that made any difference, 
for little fanatics like Erkel can never imagine serving a cause 
except by identifying it with the person who, to their minds, is 
the expression of it. The sensitive, affectionate and kind-hearted 
Erkel was perhaps the most callous of Shatov’s would-be 
murderers, and, though he had no personal spite against him, he 
would have been present at his murder without the quiver of 
an eyelid. He had been instructed, for instance, to have a good 


540 THE POSSESSED 


look at Shatov’s surroundings while carrying out his commis- 
sion, and when Shatov, receiving him at the top of the stairs, 
blurted out to him, probably unaware in the heat of the moment, 
that his wife had come back to him—Erkel had the instinctive 
cunning to avoid displaying the slightest curiosity, though the 
idea flashed through his mind that the fact of his wife’s return 
was of great importance for the success of their undertaking. 

And so it was in reality ; it was only that fact that saved the 
‘“‘ scoundrels ” from Shatov’s carrying out his intention, and at 
the same time helped them “‘to get rid of him.’”’ To begin with, it 
agitated Shatov, threw him out of his regular routine, and 
deprived him of his usual clear-sightedness and caution. Any 
idea of his own danger would be the last thing to enter his head at 
this moment when he was absorbed with such different con- 
siderations. On the contrary, he eagerly believed that Pyotr 
Verhovensky was running away the next day: it fell in exactly 
with his suspicions! Returning to the room he sat down again 
in a corner, leaned his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his 
hands. Bitter thoughts tormented him. ... 

Then he would raise his head again and go on tiptoe to look 
at her. ‘Good God! she will be in a fever by to-morrow morn- 
ing; perhaps it’s begun already! She must have caught cold. 
She is not accustomed to this awful climate, and then a third- 
class carriage, the storm, the rain, and she has such a thin little 
pelisse, no wrap at all. ... And to leave her like this, to 
abandon her in her helplessness! Her bag, too, her bag—what a 
tiny, light thing, all crumpled up, scarcely weighs ten pounds! 
Poor thing, how worn out she is, how much she’s been through ! 
She is proud, that’s why she won’t complain. But she is irritable, 
very irritable. It’s illness ; an angel will grow irritable in illness. 
What a dry forehead, it must be hot—how dark she is under 
the eyes, and . . . and yet how beautiful the oval of her face is 
and her rich hair, how. . .” 

And he made haste to turn away his eyes, to walk away as 
though he were frightened at the very idea of seeing in her any- 
thing but an unhappy, exhausted fellow-creature who needed 
help—“‘how could he think of hopes, oh, how mean, how 
base is man!” And he would go back to his corner, sit down, 
hide his face in his hands and again sink into dreams and remi- 
niscences . . . and again he was haunted by hopes. 

“Oh, I am tired, I am tired,” he remembered her exclama- 
tions, her weak broken voice. ‘‘ Good God! Abandon her now, 


A WANDERER 541 


and she has only eighty kopecks ; she held out her purse, a tiny 
old thing! She’s come to lookfor a job. What does she know 
aboutjobs? What do they know about Russia? Why, they are 
like naughty children, they’ve nothing but their own fancies 
made up by themselves, and she is angry, poor thing, that 
Russia is not like their foreign dreams! The luckless, innocent 
creatures! ... It’s really cold here, though.” 

He remembered that she had complained, that he had promised 
to heat the stove. “There are logs here, I can fetch them if 
only I don’t wake her. But I can do it without waking her. 
But what shall I do about the veal ? When she gets up perhaps 
she will be hungry. . . . Well, that will do later : Kirillov doesn’t 
go to bed all night. What could I cover her with, she is sleeping 
so soundly, but she must be cold, ah, she must be cold !””? And once 
more he went to look at her; her dress had worked up a little 
and her right leg was half uncovered to the knee. He suddenly 
turned away almost in dismay, took off his warm overcoat, and, 
remaining in his wretched old jacket, covered it up, trying not 
to look at it. 

A great deal of time was spent in lighting the fire, stepping 
about on tiptoe, looking at the sleeping woman, dreaming in 
the corner, then looking at her again. Two or three hours had 
passed. During that time Verhovensky and Liputin had been 
at Kirillov’s. At last he, too, began to doze in the corner. He 
heard her groan; she waked up and called him; he jumped 
up like a criminal. 

‘Marie, I was dropping asleep... . Ah, what a wretch I 
am, Marie! ”’ 

She sat up, looking about her with wonder, seeming not to 
recognise where she was, and suddenly leapt up in indignation 
and anger. 

‘ T’ve taken your bed, I fell asleep so tired I didn’t know what 
I was doing; how dared you not wake me? How could you 
dare imagine I meant to be a burden to you ?”’ 

‘‘ How could I wake you, Marie ?” 

“You could, you ought to have! You've no other bed here, 
and I’ve taken yours. You had no business to put me into a false 
position. Or do you suppose that I’ve come to take advantage 
- of your charity ? Kindly get into your bed at once and TU lie 
down in the corner on some chairs.” 

‘Marie, there aren’t chairs, enough, and there’s nothing to 


put on them ”’ 


542 THE POSSESSED 


‘Then simply on the floor. Or you'll have to lie on the floor 
yourself. I want to lie on the floor at once, at once ! ”’ 

She stood up, tried to take a step, but suddenly a violent 
spasm of pain deprived her of all power and all determination, 
and with a loud groan she fell back on the bed. Shatov ran up, 
but Marie, hiding her face in the pillow, seized his hand and 
gripped and squeezed it with all her might. This lasted a 
minute. | 

‘‘ Marie darling, there’s a doctor Frenzel living here, a friend 
of mine. . . . I could run for him.” 

‘* Nonsense ! ”’ 

‘‘What do you mean by nonsense? Tell me, Marie, what 
is it hurting you? For we might try fomentations . .. on the 
stomach for instance. . . . I can do that without a doctor. ... 
Or else mustard poultices.”’ 

‘‘ What’s this,” she asked strangely, raising her head and 
looking at him in dismay. 

‘‘What’s what, Marie?” said Shatov, not understanding. 
‘““What are you asking about? Good heavens! I am ety 
bewildered, excuse my not understanding.” 

‘Ach, let me alone!; it’s not your business to understand. 
And it would be too absurd .. .”’ she said with a bitter smile. 
* Talk to me about something, Walk about the room and talk. 
Don’t stand over me and don’t look at me, I particularly ask 
you that for the five-hundredth time ! ”’ 

Shatov began walking up and down the room, looking at the 
floor, and doing his utmost not to glance at her. 

‘“'There’s—don’t be angry, Marie, I entreat you—there’s 
some veal here, and there’s tea not far off. . You had so 
little before.” 

She made an angry gesture of disgust. Shatov bit his tongue 
in despair. 

‘Listen, I intend to open a bookbinding business here, on 
rational co-operative principles. Since you live here what do 
you think of it, would it be successful ? ”’ 

‘Ech, Marie, people don’t read books here, and there are 
none here at all. And are they likely to begin binding them ! ” 

‘* Who are they ?”’ 

‘‘ The local readers and ah abitaiven generally, Marie.” 

“Well, then, speak more clearly. They indeed, and one 
doesn’t know who they are. You don’t know grammar! ” 

‘‘Jt’s in the spirit of the language,”’ Shatov muttered. 


A WANDERER 543 


“ Oh, get along with your spirit, you bore me. Why shouldn’t 
the local inhabitant or reader have his books bound ? ” 

“Because reading books and having them bound are two 
different stages of development, and there’s a vast gulf between 
them. ‘To begin with, a man gradually gets used to reading, in the 
course of ages of course, but takes no care of his books and throws 
them about, not thinking them worth attention. But binding 
implies respect for books, and implies that not only he has grown 
fond of reading, but that he looks upon it as something of value. 
That period has not been reached anywhere in Russia yet. In 
Europe books have been bound for a long while.” 

“ Though that’s pedantic, anyway, it’s not stupid, and reminds 
me of the time three years ago; you used to be rather clever 
sometimes three years ago.” 

She said this as disdainfully as her other capricious 
remarks. 

“Marie, Marie,’”’ said Shatov, turning to her, much moved, 
“oh, Marie! If you only knew how much has happened in 
those three years! I heard afterwards that you despised me 
for changing my convictions. But what are the men I’ve 
broken with 2? The enemies of all true life, out-of-date Liberals 
who are afraid of their own independence, the flunkeys of thought, 
the enemies of individuality and freedom, the decrepit advocates 
of deadness and rottenness! All they have to offer is senility, 
a glorious mediocrity of the most bourgeois kind, contemptible 
shallowness, a jealous equality, equality without individual 
dignity, equality as it’s understood by flunkeys or by the French 
in ’93. And the worst of it is there are swarms of scoundrels 
among them, swarms of scoundrels !”’ 

‘‘ Yes, there are a lot of scoundrels,’ she brought out abruptly 
with painful effort. She lay stretched out, motionless, as though 
afraid to move, with her head thrown back on the pillow, rather 
on one side, staring at the ceiling with exhausted but glowing 
eyes. Her face was pale, her lips were dry and hot. 

“You recognise it, Marie, you, recognise it,” cried Shatov. 
She tried to shake her head, and suddenly the same spasm came 
over her again. Again she hid her face in the pillow, and again 
for a full minute she squeezed Shatov’s hand till it hurt. He 
had run up, beside himself with alarm. 

“Marie, Marie! But it may be very serious, Marie 

“ Be quiet . . . I won’t have it, I won’t have it,” she screamed 
almost furiously, turning her face upwards again. ‘‘ Don’t dare 


} >? 


544 THE POSSESSED 


to look at me with your sympathy! Walk about the room, 
say something, talk. .. .” 

Shatov began muttering something again, like one 
distraught. | 

‘““What do you do here ?”’ she asked, interrupting him with 
contemptuous impatience. 

‘““T work in a merchant’s office. I could get a fair amount 
of money even here if I cared to, Marie.” 

‘So much the better for you. .. .” 

“Oh, don’t suppose I meant anything, Marie. I said it 
without thinking.” 

‘* And what do you do besides? What are you preaching ? 
You can’t exist without preaching, that’s your character ! ”’ 

““T am preaching God, Marie.”’ 

‘““In whom you don’t believe yourself. I never could see the 
idea of that.”’ 

** Let’s leave that, Marie ; we’ll talk of that later.” 

“* What sort of person was this Marya Timofyevna here ? ” 

** We'll talk of that later too, Marie.” 

‘“* Don’t dare to say such things to me! Is it true that her 
death may have been caused by ... the wickedness .. . of 
these people ?”’ 

‘“* Not a doubt of it,”’ growled Shatov. 

Marie suddenly raised her head and cried out painfully : 

““ Don’t dare speak of that to me again, don’t dare to, never, 
never !”’ 

And she fell back in bed again, overcome by the same con- 
vulsive agony ; it was the third time, but this time her groans 
were louder, in fact she screamed. 

“Oh, you insufferable man! Oh, you unbearable man,” she 
cried, tossing about recklessly, and pushing away Shatov as he 
bent over her. 

‘Marie, I'll do anything you like... . Tll walk about and 
Pal et citer? 

‘‘ Surely you must see that it has begun !”’ 

** What’s begun, Marie ? ” 

“How can I tell! Do I know anything about it? ..:I 
curse myself! Oh, curse it all from the beginning !” 

“ Marie, if you'd tell me what’s beginning ...orelseI... 
if you don’t, what am I to make of it ? ”’ 

“You area useless, theoretical babbler. Oh, curse everything 
on earth !’’ 


A WANDERER ° 545 


*‘ Marie, Marie!” He seriously thought that she was begin- 
ning to go mad. 

‘‘ Surely you must see that I am in the agonies of childbirth,” 
she said, sitting up and gazing at him with a terrible, hysterical 
vindictiveness that distorted her whole face. ‘“‘I curse him 
before he is born, this child ! ”’ 

‘“‘ Marie,” cried Shatov, realising at last what it meant. 
“Marie ... but why didn’t you tell me before.’’ He pulled 
himself together at once and seized his cap with an air of vigorous 
determination. 

“How could I tell when I came in here? Should I have 
come to you if ’'d known? I was told it would be another ten 
days! Where are you going? ... Where are you going? You 
mustn’t dare !”’ 

“To fetch a midwife! Ill sell the revolver. We must get 
money before anything else now.” 

‘Don’t dare to do anything, don’t dare to fetch a midwife ! 
Bring a peasant woman, any old woman, I’ve eighty kopecks in 
my purse. . . . Peasant women have babies without midwives. 
. .. And if I die, so much the better. . . .” 

** You shall have a midwife and an old woman too. But how 

am I to leave you alone, Marie !”’ 
- But reflecting that it was better to leave her alone now in 
spite of her desperate state than to leave her without help later, he 
paid no attention to her groans, nor her angry exclamations, but 
rushed downstairs, hurrying all he could. 


III 


First of all he went to Kirillov. It was by now about one 
o’clock in the night. Kirillov was standing in the middle of the 
room. 

** Kirillov, my wife is in childbirth.” 

‘* How do you mean ?”’ 

*‘ Childbirth, bearing a child!” 


“You... are not mistaken ?” 
‘Oh, no, no, she is in agonies! I want a woman, any old 
woman, I must have one at once. . . . Can you get one now ? 


9 


You used to have a lot of old women. . . 
“‘ Very sorry that I am no good at childbearing,” Kirillov 
ya a 


546 THE POSSESSED 


answered thoughtfully ; ‘‘ that is, not at childbearing, but at 
doing anything for childbearing ... or... no, I don’t know 
how to say it.” 

‘You mean you can’t assist at a confinement yourself? But 
that’s not what I’ve come for. An old woman, I want a woman, 
a nurse, a servant ! ”’ 

“You shall have an old woman, but not directly, perhaps 
.. . Ifyou like T’ll: come instead. . . .” 

‘Oh, impossible ; I am running to Madame Virginsky, the 
midwife, now.” 

‘A horrid woman !”’ 

“‘ Oh, yes, Kirillov, yes, but she is the best of them all. Yes, 
it'll all be without reverence, without gladness, with contempt, 
with abuse, with blasphemy in the presence of so great a mystery, 
the coming of a new creature! Oh, she is cursing it already ! ” 

“Tf you like Pl...” | 

“No, no, but while I’m running (oh, I’ll make Madame Vir- 
ginsky come), will you go to the foot of my staircase and quietly 
listen? But don’t venture to go in, you'll frighten her; don’t 
go in on any account, you must only listen . . . in case anything 
dreadful happens. If anything very bad happens, then run in.” 

‘“T understand. DTve anotherrouble. Hereitis. I meant to 
have a fowl to-morrow, but now I don’t want to, make haste, 
run with all your might. There’s a samovar all the night.” 

Kirillov knew nothing of the present design against Shatov, 
nor had he had any idea in the past of the degree of danger that 
threatened him. He only knew that Shatov had some old 
scores with “ those people,’’ and although he was to some extent 
involved with them himself through instructions he had received 
from abroad (not that these were of much consequence, however, 
for he had never taken any direct share in anything), yet of late 
he had given it all up, having left off doing anything especially 
for the ‘‘ cause,’’ and devoted himself entirely to a life of contem- 
plation. Although Pyotr Stepanovitch had at the meeting 
invited Liputin to go with him to Kirillov’s to make sure that 
the latter would take upon himself, at a given moment, the 
responsibility for the “ Shatov business,” yet in his interview 
with Kirillov he had said no word about Shatov nor alluded to 
him in any way—probably considering it impolitic to do so, | 
and thinking that Kirillov could not be relied upon. He put off | 
speaking about it till next day, when it would be all over and 
would therefore not matter to Kirillov; such at least was Pyotr 





A WANDERER > 547 
Stepanovitch’s judgment of him. Liputin, too, was struck by the 
fact that Shatov was not mentioned in spite of what Pyotr 
Stepanovitch had promised, but he was too much agitated to 
protest. 

Shatov ran like a hurricane to Virginsky’s house, ‘cursing the 
distance and feeling it endless. 

He had to knock a long time at Virginsky’s ; every one had been 
asleep a long while. But Shatov did not scruple to bang at the 
shutters with all his might. The dog chained up in the yard 
dashed about barking furiously. The dogs caught it up all 
along the street, and there was a regular babel of barking. 

*“Why are you knocking and what do you want?’ Shatov 
heard at the window at last Virginsky’s' gentle voice; betraying 
none of the resentment appropriate to the ‘‘ outrage.’ The 
shutter was pushed back a little and the casement was opened. 

‘“‘ Who’s there, what scoundrel is it ?’’ shrilled a female voice 
which betrayed all the resentment appropriate to the “outrage.” 
It was the old maid, Virginsky’s relation. 

““T am Shatov, my wife has come back to me and she is just 
confined. ‘ee 

“Well, let her be, get along.” 

‘ve come for Arina Prohorovna; I won ’t go without Arina 
Prohorovna !”’ 

‘“‘ She can’t attend to everyone. ''Practice at rece is a special 
line. Take yourself off to Maksheyev’s ard don’t dare to make 
that din,” rattled the exasperated female voice. He could hear 
Virginsky checking her; but the old maid pushed him away 
and would not desist. 

“ Tam not going away !’’ Shatov cried again. i 

“ Wait a little, wait a little,” Virginsky cried at last, over- 
powering the lady.’ “I beg you to wait five minutes, Shatov: 
T’ll wake Arina Prohorovna: Please don’t knock and don’ t shout: 
. .. Oh, how awful it allis!”’ 

) ‘After five endless minutes, Arina Prohorovna madeé ee 
appearance. | 

“Has your wife come?” Shatov heard her voice at the window 
and to his surprise it was not at all ill-tempered, only as usual per- 
emptory, but Arina Sa could not speak except in a 
peremptory tone. 

“Yes, my wife, and nels is in labour.” 

** Marya Ignatyevna ?” 

“Yes, Marya Ignatyevna. Of course it’s Marya Ignatyevna.”’ 


548 THE POSSESSED 


A silence followed. Shatov waited. He heard a whispering 
in the house. . 

‘““Has she been here long?’’ Madame Virginsky asked 
again. | 

“She came this evening at eight o'clock. Please make 
haste.” 

Again he heard whispering, as though they were consulting. 

‘* Listen, you are not making a mistake ?. Did she send you for 
me herself ? ”’ 

‘No, she didn’t send for you, she wants a peasant woman, so 
as not to burden me with expense, but don’t be afraid, I'll pay 
you.” 

“Very good, I’ll come, whether you pay or not. I always 
thought highly of Marya Ignatyevna for the independence of 
her sentiments, though perhaps she won’t remember me. Have 
you got the most necessary things ?.”’ 

‘“‘ T’ve nothing, but I’ll get everything, everything.” 

‘“‘ There is something generous even in these people,’ Shatov 
reflected, as he set off to Lyamshin’s. ‘“‘ The convictions and 
the man are two very different things, very likely I’ve been very 
unfair to them! ... We are all to blame, we are all to blame 

. and if only all were convinced of it !”’ : 

He had not to knock long at Lyamshin’s; the latter, to 
Shatov’s surprise, opened his casement at once, jumping out 
of bed, barefoot and in his night-clothes at the risk of catching 
cold; and he was hypochondriacal and always anxious about 
his health. But there was a special cause for such alertness and 
haste: Lyamshin had been in a tremor all the evening, and 
had not been able to sleep for excitement after the meeting of 
the quintet; he was haunted by the dread of uninvited and 
undesired visitors. —The news of Shatov’s giving information tor- 
mented him more than anything. . . . And suddenly there was 
this terrible loud knocking at the window as though to justify 
his fears. i 

He was so frightened at seeing Shatov that he at once slammed 
the casement and jumped back into bed. Shatov began 
furiously knocking and shouting. 

‘* How dare you knock like that in the middle of the night ?” 
shouted Lyamshin, in a threatening voice, though he was 
numb with fear, when at least two minutes later he ventured to 
open the casement again, and was at last convinced that Shatov 
had come alone. 


A WANDERER 549 


*““ Here’s your revolver for you; take it back, give me fifteen 
roubles.” | 

“What's the matter, are you drunk? This is outrageous, I 
shall simply catch cold. Wait a minute, Ill just throw my rug 
over me.”’ 

“ Give me fifteen roubles at once. If you don’t give it me, I'll 
knock and shout till daybreak ; I’ll break your window-frame.”’ 
** And [ll shout police and you'll be taken to the lock-up.” 

““AndamIdumb? Can’t I shout ‘police’ too? Which of 
us has most reason to be afraid of the police, you or I ? ” 

“And you can hold such contemptible opinions! I know 
what you are hinting at. . . . Stop, stop, for God’s sake don’t 
go on knocking! Upon my word, who has money at night ? 
What do you want money for, unless you are drunk ?”’ 

*“My wife has come back. I’ve taken ten roubles off the 
price, I haven’t fired it once; take the revolver, take it this 
minute ! ”’ 

Lyamshin mechanically put his hand out of the casement and 
took the revolver; he waited a little, and suddenly thrusting 
his head out of the casement, and with a shiver running down 
his spine, faltered as though he were beside himself. 

“You are lying, your wife hasn’t come back to you. .. . It’s 

. it’s simply that you want to run away.” 

“You are a fool. Whereshould Irunto? It’s for your Pyotr 
Verhovensky to run away, not for me. I’ve just been to the 
midwife, Madame Virginsky, and she consented at once to come 
to me. You can ask them. My wife is in agony; I need the 
money; give it me!” 

A swarm of ideas flared up in Lyamshin’s crafty mind like a 
shower of fireworks. It all suddenly took a different colour, 
though still panic prevented him from reflecting. 

“But how . . . you are not living with your wife ?”’ 

“Tl break your skull for questions like that.” 

‘‘ Oh dear, I understand, forgive me, I was struck all of a heap. 
. . . But I understand, I understand . . . is Arina Prohorovna 
really coming ? You said just now that she had gone? You 
know, that’s not true. You see, you see, you see what lies you 
_ tell at every step.” 

** By now, she must be with my wife. . . don’tkeepme. . . it’s 
not my fault you are a fool.” 

*'That’s a lie, I am not a fool. Excuse me, I really 
pant os. 


550 THE ‘POSSESSED 


And utterly distraught he began shutting the casement again 
for the third time, but Shatov aK such a yell that he put 
his head out again. 

‘* But this is simply an unprovoked assault! .What do you 
want of me, what is it, what isit, formulate it? And think, only 
think, it’s the middle of the night !”’ 

“‘T want fifteen roubles, you sheep’s-head |” 

‘But perhaps I don’t care to take back the revolver. You 
have no right to force me. | You bought the thing and the matter 
is settled, and you've no right... ..I1 can’t give you a sum 
like that in the night, anyhow. Where am I to get a sum like 
that ?”’ 

‘““You always have money. I’ve taken ten roubles off the 
price, but every one knows youvare a skinflint.”’ 

“Come the day after to-morrow, do you hear, the day after 
to-morrow at twelve o'clock, and I'll give you the whole of it, 
that will do, won’t it ?”’ | 

Shatov knocked furiously at the window-frame for the third 
time. 

‘“‘ Give me ten roubles, and to;momrow early the other five.”’ 

‘““No, the day after to-morrow the other five, to-morrow I 
swear q shan’t haveit: _You’d better not come, you'd better not. 
come.’ | 

‘““ Give me ten, you scoundrel: > 3 

“Why are you .so abusive. :Wait a minute, I must light a 
candle; you've broken the window. . . . Nobody swears like 
that at night. Here you are!’’ He heldanote to him out of the 
window. 

Shatov seized it—it was a note for five roubles. 

“Qn my honour I can’t do, more, if you were to murder me, I 
couldn’ t; the day after to-morrow I can give you. it.all, but now 
I can do nothing.” 

“Tam not going away ! us) roared Shatov. : 

** Very well, take it, here’s.some more, see, here’s some more, 
and I won’t give more. You can shout at the top of your 
voice, but I won’t give more, I won’t, whatever happens, I won't, 
I won't.” 

He was in a perfect frenzy, desperate and perspiring. The 
two notes he had just given him were each for a rouble. Shatov 
had seven roubles altogether now. 

“ Well, damn you, then, I'll come to-morrow. I'll thrash you, 
Lyamshin, if you don’t give me the other eight.” 


A WANDERER 551 


“‘ You won’t find me at home, you fool!’ Lyamshin reflected 
quickly. 

‘Stay, stay!” he shouted frantically after Shatov, who was 
already running off. ‘‘ Stay, come back. Tell me please, is it 
true what you said that your wife has come back ? ”’ 

“Fool!” cried Shatov, with a gesture of disgust, and ran 
home as hard as he could. 


IV 


I may mention that Arina Prohorovna knew nothing of the 
resolutions that had been taken at the meeting the day before. 
On returning home overwhelmed and exhausted, Virginsky 
had not ventured to tell her of the decision that had been taken, 
yet he could not refrain from telling her half—that is, all that 
Verhovensky had told them of the certainty of Shatov’s intention 
to betray them; but he added at the same time that he did 
not. quite believe it. Arina Prohorovna was terribly alarmed. 
This was why she decided at once to go when Shatov came to 
fetch her, though she was tired out, as she had been hard at work 
at a confinement all the night before. She had always been con- 
vinced that “a wretched creature like Shatov was capable of 
any political baseness,’’ but the arrival of Marya Ignatyevna put 
things in a different light. Shatov’s alarm, the despairing tone of 
his entreaties, the way he begged for help, clearly showed a com- 
plete change of feeling in the traitor: a man who was ready to 
betray himself merely for the sake of ruining others would, she 
thought, have had a different air and tone. In short, Arina 
Prohorovna resolved to look into the matter for herself, with her 
own eyes. Virginsky was very glad of her decision, he felt as 
though a hundredweight had been lifted off him! He even 
began to feel hopeful: Shatov’s appearance seemed to him 
utterly incompatible with Verhovensky’s supposition. 

Shatov was not mistaken: on getting home he found Arina 
Prohoroyna already with Marie. She had just arrived, had 
contemptuously dismissed Kirillov, whom she found hanging 
about the foot of the stairs, had hastily introduced herself to 
- Marie, who had not recognised her as her former acquaintance, 
found her in ‘“‘a very bad way,” that is ill-tempered, irritable 
and in “‘ a state of cowardly despair,’ and within five minutes 
had completely silenced all her protests. 


552 THE POSSESSED 


‘“Why do you keep on that you don’t want an expensive 
midwife ?” she was saying at the moment when Shatov came in. 
‘“‘That’s perfect nonsense, it’s a false idea arising from the ab- 
normality of your condition. In the hands of some ordinary old 
woman, some peasant midwife, you’d have fifty chances of going 
wrong and then you’d have more bother and expense than with a 
regular midwife. How do you know I am an expensive mid- 
wife? You can pay afterwards ; I won’t charge you much and I 
answer for my success; you won’t die in my hands, I’ve seen 
worse cases than yours. And I can send the baby to a foundling 
asylum to-morrow, if you like, and then to be brought up in the 
country, and that’s all it will mean. And meantime you'll grow 
strong again, take up some rational work, and in a very short 
time you'll repay Shatov for sheltering you and for the expense, 
which will not be so great.” 

‘““Tt’s not that . . . Pve noright to bea burden. .. .” 

‘“* Rational feelings and worthy of a citizen, but you can take . 
my word for it, Shatov will spend scarcely anything, if he is 
willing to become ever so little a man of sound ideas instead of 
the fantastic person he is. He has only not to do anything 
stupid, not to raise an alarm, not to run about the town with his 
tongue out. If we don’t restrain him he will be knocking up all 
the doctors of the town before the morning; he waked all the 
dogs in my street. There’s no need of doctors I’ve said already. 
Ill answer for everything. You can hire an old woman if you 
like to wait on you, that won’t cost much. Though he too can do 
something besides the silly things he’s been doing. He’s got 
hands and feet, he can run to the chemist’s without offending 
your feelings by being too benevolent. As though it were a case 
of benevolence! Hasn’t he brought you into this position ? 
Didn’t he make you break with the family in which you were a 
governess, with the egoistic object of marrying you? We heard 
of it, you know . . . though he did run for me like one possessed 
and yell so all the street could hear. I won’t force myself upon 
anyone and have come only for your sake, on the principle that 
all of us are bound to hold together! And I told him so before I 
left the house. If you think I am in the way, good-bye, I only 
hope you won’t have trouble which might so easily be averted.” 

And she positively got up from the chair. Marie was so helpless, 
in such pain, and—the truth must be confessed—so frightened of 
what was before her that she dared not let her go. But this 
woman was suddenly hateful to her, what she said was not what 


A WANDERER 553 


she wanted, there was something quite different in Marie’s soul. 
Yet the prediction that she might possibly die in the hands of an 
inexperienced peasant woman overcame her aversion. But she 
made up for it by being more exacting and more ruthless than 
ever with Shatov. She ended by forbidding him not only to 
look at her but even to stand facing her. Her pains became 
more violent. Her curses, her abuse became more and more 
frantic. 

** Eich, we’llsend him away,” Arina Prohorovnarapped out. ‘“I 
don’t know what he looks like, he is simply frightening you; he 
is as white as a corpse! What is it to you, tell me please, you 
absurd fellow ? What a farce!” 

Shatov made no reply, he made up his mind to say nothing. 

*“* ve seen many a foolish father, half crazy in such cases. But 
they, atany rate...” 

‘“ Be quiet or leave me to die! Don’t say another word! I 
won’t have it, I won’t have it! ’’ screamed Marie. 

‘‘ It’s impossible not to say another word, if you are not out 
of your mind, as I think you are in your condition. We must talk 
of what we want, anyway: tell me, have you anything ready ? 
You answer, Shatov, she is incapable.” | 

‘* Tell me what’s needed ? ” 

“That means you’ve nothing ready.’ She reckoned up all that 
was quite necessary, and one must do her the justice to say she only 
asked for what was absolutely indispensable, the barest necessaries. 
Some things Shatov had. Marie took out her key and held it out 
to him, for him to look in her bag. As his hands shook he was 
longer than he should have been opening the unfamiliar lock. 
Marie flew into a rage, but when Arina Prohorovna rushed up to 
take the key from him, she would not allow her on any account 
to look into her bag and with peevish cries and tears insisted that 
no one should open the bag but Shatov. 

Some things he had to fetch from Kirillov’s. No sooner had 
Shatov turned to go for them than she began frantically calling 
him back and was only quieted when Shatov had rushed im- 
petuously back from the stairs, and explained that he should only 
be gone a minute to fetch something indispensable and would 
be back at once. 

‘Well, my lady, it’s hard to please you,” laughed Arina 
Prohorovna, ‘‘ one minute he must stand with his face to the 
wall and not dare to look at you, and the next he mustn’t be 
gone for a minute, or you begin crying. He may begin to imagine 


554 THE POSSESSED 


something. Come, come, don’t be silly, don’t blubber; I was 
laughing, you know.” 
‘‘ He won’t dare to imagine anything.” 
“ Tut, tut, tut, if he didn’t love you like a sheep he wouldn't 
run about the streets with his tongue out and wouldn’t have 
roused all the dogs in the town. He broke my window-frame.” 


Vv 


He found Kirillov still pacing up and down his room so pre- 
occupied that he had forgotten the arrival of Shatov’s wife, and 
heard what he said without understanding him. 

‘“‘ Oh, yes!” he recollected suddenly, as though tearing himself 
with an effort and only for an instant from some absorbing idea, 
“yes ... anold woman, ... A wife or an old woman ? Stay 
a minute: a wife and an.old woman, is that it? I remember. 
I’ve been, the old woman will come, only not just now. Take 
the pillow. Is there anything else? Yes, . .. Stay, do you 
have moments of the eternal harmony, Shatov ?”’ 

“You know, Kirillov, you mustn’t go on staying up every 
night.’’ 

Kirillov came out of his reverie and, strange to say, spoke far 
more coherently than he usually did; it was clear that he had 
formulated it long ago and perhaps written it down. 

‘‘'There are seconds—they come five or six at a time—when 
you suddenly feel the presence of the eternal harmony perfectly 
attained. It’s something not earthly—I don’t mean in the sense 
that it’s heavenly—but in that sense that man cannot endure it 
in his earthly aspect. He must be physically changed or die. 
This feeling is clear and unmistakable; it’s as though you 
apprehend all nature and suddenly say, ‘ Yes, that’s right.’ God, 
when He created the world, said at the end of each day of creation, 
“Yes, it’s right, it’s good.’ It... it’s not being deeply moved, 
but simply joy... You don’t forgive anything because there is no 
more need of forgiveness. It’s not that you love—oh, there’s 
something in it higher than love—what’s most awful is that it’s 
terribly clear and such joy. If it lasted more than five seconds, 
the soul could not endure it and must perish. In those five seconds 
I live through a lifetime, and I’d give my whole life for them, 
because they are worth it. To endure ten seconds one must be 


A WANDERER 555 


physically changed. I think man, ought to give up having 
children—what’s the use of children, what’s the use of evolution 
when the goal has been attained? In the gospel it is written 
that there will be no child-bearing in the resurrection, but that 
men will be like the angels of the Lord. That’s a hint. Is your 
wife bearing a child ? ” 

** Kirillov, does this often happen ?.”’ 

** Once in three days, or once a week.” 
“Don’t you have fits, perhaps ? ”’ 

ce No. 29 
it Well, you will. Be careful, Kirillov,. I’ve heard that’s just 
how fits begin, An epileptic described exactly that sensation 
before a fit, word for word as you’ve done. He mentioned five 
seconds, too, and said that more could not be endured. Re- 
member |Mahomet’s pitcher from which no, drop of water was 
spilt while he circled Paradise on his horse.. That was a case 
of five seconds too ; that’s too much like your eternal harmony, 
and Mahomet was an epileptic. Be careful, Kirillov, it’s 
epilepsy ! 
‘“‘ It won’t have time,” Kirillov smiled gently. 


VI 


The night was passing. Shatov was sent hither and thither, 
abused, called back. Marie was reduced to the most abject terror 
for life. She screamed that she wanted to live, that ‘‘ she must, 
she must,’ and was afraid to die. ‘“ I don’t want to, I don’t 
want to!’ she repeated. If Arina Prohorovna had not been 
there, things would have gone very badly. By.degrees she gained 
complete control of the patient—-who began to obey every word, 
every order from her like a child. Arina Prohoroyna ruled by 
sternness not by kindness, but she was first-rate at. her work. 
It began to get light . . . Arina Prohorovna suddenly imagined 
that Shatov had just run out on to the stairs to say his prayers 
and began laughing. Marie laughed too, spitefully, malignantly, 
as though such laughter relieved her. At last they drove Shatov 
away altogether. A damp, cold morning dawned. He pressed 
his face to the wall in the corner just as he had done the evening 
before when Erkel came. He was trembling like a leaf, afraid to 
think, but his mind caught at every thought as it does in dreams. 


556 THE POSSESSED 


He was continually being carried away by day-dreams, which 
snapped off short like a rotten thread. From the room came 
no longer groans but awful animal cries, unendurable, incredible. 
He tried to stop up his ears, but could not, and he fell on his 
knees, repeating unconsciously, ‘‘ Marie, Marie! ”’ Then suddenly 
he heard a cry, a new cry, which made Shatov start and jump 
up from his knees, the cry of a baby, a weak discordant cry. 
He crossed himself and rushed into the room. Arina Prohoroyna 
held in her hands a little red wrinkled creature, screaming, and 
moving its little arms and legs, fearfully helpless, and looking as 
though it could be blown away by a puff of wind, but screaming 
and seeming to assert its full right to live. Marie was lying as 
though insensible, but a minute later she opened her eyes, and 
bent a strange, strange look on Shatov: it was something quite 
new, that look. What it meant exactly he was not able to under- 
stand yet, but he had never known such a look on her face before. 

“Ts it a boy? Is it a boy?” she asked Arina Prohorovna 
in an exhausted voice. 

‘It is a boy,” the latter shouted in reply, as she bound up the 
child. | 

When she had bound him up and was about to lay him across 
the bed between the two pillows, she gave him to Shatov for a 
minute to hold. Marie signed to him on the sly as though afraid 
of Arina Prohorovna. He understood at once and brought 
the baby to show her. 

‘““How ... pretty he is,” she whispered weakly with a smile. 

“Foo, what does he look like,” Arina Prohorovna laughed 
gaily in triumph, glancing at Shatov’s face. “ What a funny 
face |” | 

‘You may be merry, Arina Prohorovna. . .. It’s a great 
joy,” Shatov faltered with an expression of idiotic bliss, radiant 
at the phrase Marie had uttered about the child. 

‘“ Where does the great joy come in ?”’ said Arina Prohordeis 
good-humouredly, bustling about, clearing up, and working like 
& convict. 

“The mysterious coming of a new creature, a great and inex- 
plicable mystery ; and what a pity it is, Arina Prohorovna, that’ 
you don’t understand it.” 3 

Shatov spoke in an incoherent, stupefied and ecstatic way. 
Something seemed to be tottering in his head and welling up from 
his soul apart from his own will. 

‘There were two and now there’s a third human being, a new 


A WANDERER 557 


spirit, finished and complete, unlike the handiwork of man; 
a new thought and anew love .. . it’s positively frightening... . 
And there’s nothing grander in the world.” 

“Ech, what nonsense he talks! It’s simply a further develop- 
ment of the organism, and there’s nothing else in it, no mystery,” 
said Arina Prohoroyna with genuine and good-humoured laughter. 
*“ Tf you talk like that, every fly is a mystery. But I tell you 
what: superfluous people ought not to be born. We must first 
remould everything so that they won’t be superfluous and then 
bring them into the world. As it is, we shall have to take him 
to the Foundling, the day after to-morrow. . . . Though that’s 
as it should be.” 

‘‘T will never let him go to the Foundling,”” Shatov pronounced 
resolutely, staring at the floor. | 

‘“‘ You adont him as your son ?” , 

‘* He is my son.” 

** Of course he is a Shatov, legally he is a Shatov, and there’s 
no need for you to pose as a humanitarian. Men can’t get on 
without fine words. There, there, it’s all right, but look here, 
my friends,’’ she added, having finished clearing up at last, ‘‘it’s 
time for me to go. Ill come again this morning, and again in 
the evening if necessary, but now, since everything has gone off 
so well, I must run off to my other patients, they’ve been ex- 
pecting me long ago. : I believe you got an old woman somewhere, 
Shatov ; an old woman is all very well, but don’t you, her tender 
husband, desert her; sit beside her, you may be of use; Marya 
Ignatyevna won’t drive you away, I fancy. ... . There, there, 
I was only laughing.” 

At the gate; to which Shatov accompanied her, she added to 
him alone. 

‘** You’ve given me something to laugh at for the rest of my 
life ; I shan’t charge you anything; I shall laugh at you in my 
sleep! I have never seen anything funnier than you last night.” 

She went off very well satisfied. Shatov’s appearance and con- 
versation made it as clear as daylight that this man “ was going in 
for being a father and was aninny.”’ She ran home on purpose 
to tell Virginsky about it, though it was shorter and more direct 
to go to another patient. 

‘‘ Marie, she told you not to go to sleep for a little time, though, 
I see, it’s very hard for you,” Shatov began timidly. “Tllsit here . 
by the window and take care of you, shall I?” 

And he sat down by the window behind the sofa so that she 


558 THE POSSESSED 


could not see him.’ But before a minute had: passed she called 
him and fretfully asked him to arrange the pillow. He began q 
arranging it. She looked angrily at the wall. o 

* That’s not right, that’s not right) « . What hands ! > 

Shatov did it again. 

‘‘ Stoop down to me,” she sh ‘wildly, trying hard not to look 
at him. 

He started but stooped down. ) 

‘““More .... not so... nearer,’ and suddenly her left arm 
was impulsively thrown round his neck and: he felt her warm 
moist kiss on his forehead: 

‘“* Marie ! ”’ 

Her lips were quivering, she was struggling with herself, but 
suddenly she raised herself and said with flashing eyes : 

‘“‘ Nikolay Stavrogin is a scoundrel!’’ And she fell back 
helplessly with her face in the pillow, sobbing hysterically, and 
tightly squeezing Shatov’s hand in hers. 

From that moment she would not: let him leave her; she 
insisted on his sitting by her. pillow..’ She could not talk much 
but she kept gazing at him and smiling blissfully. She seemed 
suddenly to have become a silly girl. Everything seemed trans- 
formed. Shatov cried like a boy, then talked of God kndws what, » 
wildly, crazily, with inspiration, kissed her hands; she listened 
entranced, perhaps not understanding him; but caressingly 
ruffling his hair with her weak hand, smoothing it and admiring 
it. He talked about Kirillov, of how they would now begin “a 
new life ’ for good, of the existence of God, of the goodness of all 
men. . . . She took out the child again to gaze at it rapturously. 

‘“ Marie,’’ he cried, as he held the child in his arms, “‘ all the old 
madness, shame, and deadness is over, isn’t it? Let us work 
hard and begin a ‘new life, the three of us, yes, yes he ScOb, 
by the way, what shall we call him, Marie ? ” 

‘What’ shall we call him?’ she repeated with surprise, 
and there was a sudden look of terrible grief in her face. 

She clasped her hands, looked reproachfully at Shatov and hid 
her face in the pillow. 

‘* Marie, what is it?” he cried with painful alarm. 


99 


‘“How could you, how could yon . .. Oh, you ungrateful 
man!” 
‘“ Marie, forgive me, Marie ... I. only asked you what his 


name should be. I don’t know. .)..”’ | . 
‘*Tvan, Ivan.” She raised’ her flushed and tear-stained face. 


A WANDERER 559 
“ How could you suppose we should call him by another horrible 
name? ” 

‘* Marie, calm yourself ; oh, what a‘nervous state you are in 10? 

“'That’s rude again, putting it down to my nerves: I bet that 
if ’'d said his name was to be that other . ... horrible name, you’d 
have agreed at once and not have noticed it even! | Oh, men, the 
mean ungrateful creatures, they are all alike !'”’ | 

A minute later, of course, they were reconciled. Shatov 
persuaded her to have a nap. She fell asleep but still kept his 
hand in hers ; she waked up frequently, looked at him, as though 
afraid he would go away, and dropped asleep again. i 

Kirillov sent an old woman “ to congratulate them,” as well 
as some hot tea, some freshly cooked cutlets, and some broth and 
white bread for Marya Ignatyevna. The patient sipped the broth 
greedily, the old woman undid the baby’s wrappings and swaddled 
it afresh, Marie made Shatov have a cutlet too. 

Time was passing. Shatov, exhausted, fell asleep himself in ope 
chair, with his head on Marie’s pillow. So they were found by 
Arina Prohorovna, who kept her word. She waked them up 
gaily, asked Marie some necessary questions, examined the baby, 
and again forbade Shatov to leave her. Then, jesting at the 
“happy couple,” with a shade of contempt and superciliousness 
she went away as well satisfied as before. 

It was quite dark when Shatov waked up. He made haste to 
light the candle and ran for the old woman; but he had hardly 
begun to go down the stairs when he was struck by the sound 
of the soft, deliberate steps of some one coming up towards him. 
Erkel came in. 

“Don’t come in,” whispered Shatov, and impulsively seizing 
him by the hand he drew him back towards the gate. ‘ Wait 
here, I’ll come directly, ’'d completely forgotten you, completely ! 
Oh, how you brought it back ! ” 

He was in such haste that he did not even run in to Kirillov’s, 
but only called the old woman. Marie was in despair and 
indignation that “ he could dream of leaving her alone.” 

‘“‘ But,”’ he cried ecstatically, “ this is the very last step! And 
then for a new life and we’ll never, never think of the old horrors 
again |” 

“He somehow appeased her and promised to be back at nine 
o’clock; he kissed her warmly, kissed the baby and ran down 
quickly to Erkel. 

They set off together to Stavrogin’s park at Skvoreshniki, 


39 


560 THE POSSESSED 


where, in a secluded place at the very edge of the park where it 
adjoined the pine wood, he had, eighteen months before, buried 
the printing press which had been entrusted to him. It was 
a wild and deserted place, quite hidden and at some distance 
from the Stavrogins’ house. It was two or perhaps three miles 
from Filipov’s house. ; 

** Are we going to walk all the way? I'll take a cab.” 

‘¢ T particularly beg you not to,” replied Erkel. ‘‘ They insisted 
on that. A cabman would be a witness.” 

“Well . . . bother! I don’t care, only to make an end of 
it. bP) 

They walked very fast. 

‘‘ Erkel, you little boy,” cried Shatov, “‘ have you ever been 
happy ?” 


** You seem to be very happy just now,” observed Erkel with 
curiosity. 


CHAPTER VI 
A BUSY NIGHT 
I 


During that day Virginsky had spent two hours in running 
round to see the members of the quintet and to inform them 
that Shatov would certainly not give information, because his 
wife had come back and given birth to a child, and no one 
“who knew anything of human nature’”’ could suppose that 
Shatov could be a danger at this moment. But to his dis- 
comfiture he found none of them at home except Erkel and 
Lyamshin. Erkel listened in silence, looking candidly into his 
eyes, and in answer to the direct question “‘ Would he go at 
six o'clock or not?” he replied with the brightest of smiles 
that “‘ of course he would go.” 

Lyamshin was in bed, seriously ill, as it seemed, with his head 
covered with a quilt. He was alarmed at Virginsky’s coming 
in, and as soon as the latter began speaking he waved him off 
from under the bedclothes, entreating him to let him alone. He 
listened to all he said about Shatov, however, and seemed for 
- some reason extremely struck by the news that Virginsky had 
found no one at home. It seemed that Lyamshin knew already 
(through Liputin) of Fedka’s death, and hurriedly and in- 
coherently told Virginsky about it, at which the latter seemed 
struck in his turn. To Virginsky’s direct. question, ‘‘ Should 
they go or not ?”’ he began suddenly waving his hands again, 
entreating him to let him alone, and saying that it was not his 
business, and that he knew nothing about it. 

Virginsky returned home dejected and greatly alarmed. It 
weighed upon him that he had to hide it from his family ; he 
was accustomed to tell his wife everything; and if his feverish 
brain had not hatched a new idea at that moment, a new plan 
of conciliation for further action, he might have taken to his 
- bed like Lyamshin. But this new idea sustained him; what’s 
more, he began impatiently awaiting the hour fixed, and set. 
off for the appointed spot earlier than was necessary. 

It was a very gloomy place at the end of the huge park. 

561 2N. 


562 THE POSSESSED 


I went there afterwards on purpose to look at it. How sinister 
it must have looked on that chill autumn evening! It was at 
the edge of an old wood belonging to the Crown. Huge ancient 
pines stood out as vague sombre blurs in the darkness. It was 
so dark that they could hardly see each other two paces off, but 
Pyotr Stepanovitch, Liputin, and afterwards Erkel, brought 
lanterns with them. Atsome unrecorded date in the past a rather 
absurd-looking grotto had for some reason been built here of 
rough unhewn stones. The table and benches in the grotto had 
long ago decayed and fallen. Two hundred paces to the right 
was the bank of the third pond of the park. ‘These three ponds 
stretched one after another for a mile from the house to the 
very end of the park. One could scarcely imagine that any 
noise, a scream, or even a shot, could reach the inhabitants of 
the Stavrogins’ deserted house. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s 
departure the previous day and Alexey Yegorytch’s absence 
left only five or six people in the house, all more or less invalided, 
so to speak. In any case it might be assumed with perfect 
confidence that if cries or shouts for help were heard by any of 
the inhabitants of the isolated house they would only have 
excited terror ; no one would have moved from his warm stove 
or snug shelf to give assistance. 

By twenty past six almost all of them except Erkel, who had 
been told off to fetch Shatov, had turned up at the trysting- 
‘place. This time Pyotr Stepanovitch was not late; he came 
~with Tolkatchenko. Tolkatchenko looked frowning and anxious ; 
all his assumed determination and insolent bravado had vanished. 
He scarcely left Pyotr Stepanovitch’s side, and seemed to have 
‘become all at once immensely devoted to him. He was con- 
tinually thrusting himself forward to whisper fussily to him, but 
the latter scarce'y answered him, or muttered something irritably 
to get rid of him. 

‘ $Shigalov and Virginsky had arrived rather before Pyotr 
Stepanovitch, and as soon as he came they drew a little apart 
in profound and obviously intentional silence. Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch raised his lantern and examined them with unceremonious 
and insulting minmteness.' “They mean to speak,” flashed 
through his mind. 

*‘Isn’t Lyamshin here ?”’ he asked Airpisallys “Who said 
he was ill ?”’ 

“T am here,” responded Lyamshin, suddenly coming from 
behind a tree. He was ina warm greatcoat and thickly muffled 


bP) 


A BUSY NIGHT 563 


‘in a rug, so that it was difficult to make out his face even with a 
lantern. 

‘So Liputin is the only one not here ? ” 

Liputin too came out of the grotto without speaking. Pyotr 
Stepanovitch raised the lantern again!’ * 

‘“Why were you hiding’ in there? Why didn’t you come 
out ?”’ 

rel imagine we still keep the right of freedom .... of our 
actions,’ Liputin muttered, Hioagl probably he hardly knew 
what he wanted to express. 

“Gentlemen,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, raising his voice for 
the first time above a whisper, which produced an effect, “‘ I 
think you fully understand that it’s useless to go over things 
again, Everything was said and fully thrashed out yesterday, 
openly and directly. But perhaps—as I see from your faces— 
someone wants to make some statement ; in that case I beg you 
to make haste. Damn it all! there’s not much time, and Erkel 
may bring him in a minute. .. .” 

“ He is sure to bring him,” Tolkatchenko put in for some 
‘reason. 

“Tf I am not mistaken, the printing press ‘will be handed over, 
to begin with ?” inquired Liputin, though again he seemed 
hardly to understand why he asked the question. 

“ Of course. Why should we lose it ? ’’ said Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
lifting the lantern to his face. ‘“‘ But, you see, we all agreed 
yesterday that it was not really necessary to take it. He need 
‘only show you the exact: spot where it’s buried ; we can dig it 
up afterwards for ourselves. I know that it’s somewhere ten 
paces from a corner of this grotto. But, damn it all! how 
could you have forgotten, Liputin? It was agreed that you 
should meet him alone and that we should come out afterwards. 

. It’s strange that you should ask—or didn’t you mean what 
“you said 2?” 

Liputin kept gloomily silent. All were silent. The wind 
shook the tops of the pine-trees. 

““T trust, however, gentlemen, that every one will do his 
duty,” Pyotr Stepanovitch rapped out impatiently. 

*““T ‘know that Shatov’s wife has come back’ and has given 
birth to a child,’”’ Virginsky said suddenly, excited and gesticu- 
lating and scarcely able to speak distinctly. ““ Knowing what 
human nature is, we can be sure that now he won't give informa- 
tion ... . because he is happy... .. So I went to every one 


564 THE POSSESSED 


this morning and found no one at home, so perhaps now nothing 
need be done. .. .” 

He stopped short with a catch in his breath. 

‘“‘ Tf you suddenly became happy, Mr. Virginsky,” said Pyotr 
Stepanovitch, stepping up to him, “would you abandon—not 
giving information; there’s no question of that—but any 
perilous public action which you had planned before you were 
happy and which you regarded as a duty and obligation in spite 
of the risk and loss of happiness ?” 

“No, I wouldn’t abandon it! I wouldn’t on any account !”’ 
said Virginsky with absurd warmth, twitching all over. 

“You would rather be unhappy again than be a scoundrel ?”’ 

‘““ Yes, yes. ... Quite the contrary. ...IHId rather be a 
complete scoundrel... . that is no... not a scoundrel at all, | 
but on the contrary completely unhappy rather than a scoundrel.” 

‘* Well then, let me tell you that Shatov looks on this betrayal 
as a public duty. It’s his most cherished conviction, and the 
proof of it is that he runs some risk himself ; though, of course, 
they will pardon him a great deal for giving information. A man 
like that will never give up the idea. No sort of happiness would 
overcome him. In another day he'll go back on it, reproach 
himself, and will go straight to the police. What’s more, I don’t 
see any happiness in the fact that his wife has come back after 
three years’ absence to bear him a child of Stavrogin’s.”’ 

‘** But no one has seen Shatov’s letter,’ Shigalov brought out 
all at once, emphatically. 

‘“‘T’ve seen it,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch. “‘It exists, and all 
this is awfully stupid, gentlemen.” 

“And I protest . . .”’ Virginsky cried, boiling over suddenly. 
“TI protest with all my might. ...I want... this is what I 
want. I suggest that when he arrives we all come out and 
question him, and if it’s true, we induce him to repent of it ; and 
if he gives us his word of honour, let him go. In any case we 
must have a trial; it must be done after trial. We mustn’t lie 
in wait for him and then fall upon him.”’ 

“Risk the cause on his word of honour—that’s the acme of 
stupidity ! Damnation, how stupid it all is now, gentlemen! 
And a pretty part you are choosing to play at the moment of 
danger !”’ 

“TI protest, I protest !’’ Virginsky persisted. 

“Don’t bawl, anyway; we shan’t hear the signal. Shatov, 
gentlemen. . . . (Damnation, how stupid this is now!) I’ve 


A BUSY NIGHT 565 


told you already that Shatov is a Slavophil, that is, one of the 
stupidest set of people. . . . But, damn it all, never mind, that’s 
no matter! You put me out! ... Shatov is an embittered 
man, gentlemen, and since he has belonged to the party, anyway, 
whether he wanted to or no, I had hoped till the last minute 
that he might have been of service to the cause and might have 
been made use of as an embittered man. I spared him and was 
keeping him in reserve, in spite of most exact instructions. .. . 
I’ve spared him a hundred times more than he deserved! But 
he’s ended by betraying us. . . . But, hang it all, I don’t care ! 
You’d better try running away now, any of you! No one of 
you has the right to give up the job! You can kiss him if you 
like, but you haven’t the right to stake the cause on his word of 
honour! That’s acting like swine and spies in government 
pay ! 99 

“Who’s a spy in government pay here?” Liputin filtered 
out. 

“You, perhaps. You’d better hold your tongue, Liputin ; 
you talk for the sake of talking, as you always do. All men are 
spies, gentlemen, who funk their duty at the moment of danger. 
There will always be some fools who’il run in a panic at the last 
moment and cry out, ‘ Aie, forgive me, and I’ll give them all 
away!’ But let me tell you, gentlemen, no betrayal would 
win you a pardon now. Even if your sentence were mitigated 
it would mean Siberia ; and, what’s more, there’s no escaping 
the weapons of the other side—and their weapons are sharper 
than the government’s.” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch was furious and said more than he meant 
to. With a resolute air Shigalov took three steps towards him. 

““Since yesterday evening I’ve thought over the question,” 
he began, speaking with his usual pedantry and assurance. 
(I believe that if the earth had given way under his feet he would 
not have raised his voice nor have varied one tone in his methodical 
exposition.) ‘‘ Thinking the matter over, I’ve come to the con- 
clusion that the projected murder is not merely a waste of precious 
time which might be employed in a more suitable and befitting 
manner, but presents, moreover, that deplorable deviation from 
the normal method which has always been most prejudicial to 
the cause and has delayed its triumph for scores of years, under 
the guidance of shallow thinkers and pre-eminently of men of 
political instead of purely socialistic leanings. I have come here 
solely to protest against the projected enterprise, for the general 


566 THE POSSESSED 


edification, intending then to withdraw at the actual moment, , 
which you, for some reason I don’t understand, speak of’ asa 
moment of danger to you. I am going—not from fear of that, 
danger nor from a sentimental feeling for Shatov, whom I have 
no inclination to kiss, but solely because all this business from 
beginning to end is in direct contradiction to my programme. 
As for my betraying you and my being in the pay of the govern- 
ment, you can set your mind completely at rest. I shall not 
betray you.” 

He turned and walked away. 

‘‘Damn it all, hell meet them and warn Shatov!’’ cried 
Pyotr Stepanovitch, pulling out his revolver. They heard the. 
click of the trigger. , 

“You may be confident,” said Shigalov, turning once more, 
“that if I meet Shatov on the way I may bow to him, but I 
shall not warn him.” 

‘But do you know, you may have to pay for this, Mr, 3 
Fourier ?”’ 

“TI beg you to observe that I am not Fourier. If you mix 
me up with that mawkish theoretical twaddler you simply prove. 
thatsyou know nothing of my manuscript, though it has been in . 
your hands. As for your vengeance, let me teli you that.it’s a 
mistake to cock your pistol: that’s absolutely against your. 
interests at the present-moment. But if you threaten to shoot 
me to-morrow, or the day after, you'll gain nothing by it but 
unnecessary trouble.. You may kill me, but sooner or later 
you ll come to my system all the same. Good-bye.” 

At that instant a whistle was heard in the park, two hundred 
paces away from the direction of the pond. Liputin at once 
answered, whistling also as had been agreed the evening before. 
(As he had lost several teeth and distrusted his own powers, he 
had this, morning bought for a farthing in the market a child’s. 
clay whistle for the purpose.) Erkel had warned Shatov on the. 
way that they would whistle as a signal, so that the: latter felt 
no uneasiness. 

“Don’t be uneasy, I’ll avoid them and they won’t notice me 
at all,’’ Shigalov declared in an impressive whisper; and there- 
upon deliberately, and without haste he walked home through 
the dark park. 

Everything, to the smallest detail of this terrible affair, is: 
now fully known. To begin with, Liputin met Erkel and Shatov ~ 
at the entrance to the grotto. Shatov did not bow or offer 


A BUSY NIGHT 567 


him: his: hand, but at once pronounced hurriedly in a loud 
voice : 

“Well, where have you put the spade, and haven’t you 
another lantern ? You needn’t be afraid, there’s absolutely no 
one here, and they wouldn’t hear at Skvoreshniki now if we 
fired acannon here. This is the place, here this very spot.” 

And he stamped with his foot ten paces from the end of the 
grotto towards the wood. At. that moment Tolkatchenko 
rushed out from behind a tree and sprang at him from behind, 
while Erkel seized him by the elbows. Liputin attacked him 
from the front. The three of them at once knocked him down 
and pinned him tothe ground. At this point Pyotr Stepanovitch 
darted up with his revolver. It is said that Shatov had time to 
turn: his head and was able to see and recognise him. Three 
lanterns lighted up the scene. Shatov suddenly uttered a short 
and desperate scream. But they did not let him go on screaming. 
Pyotr Stepanovitch firmly and accurately put his revolver to 
Shatov’s forehead, pressed it to it, and pulled the trigger. The 
shot seems not to have been loud; nothing was heard at 
Skvoreshniki, anyway. Shigalov, who was scarcely three paces 
away, of course heard it—he heard the shout and the shot, but, 
as he testified afterwards, he did not turn nor even stop. Death 
was almost instantaneous. Pyotr Stepanovitch was the only 
one who preserved all his faculties, but I don’t think he was: 
quite cool. Squatting on his heels, he searched the murdered 
man’s pockets hastily, though with steady hand. No money 
was found (his purse had been left under Marya Ignatyevna’s 
pillow). Two or three scraps of paper of no importance were: 
found: a note from his office, the title of some book; and an 
old. bill from: a restaurant abroad which had been preserved, 
goodness knows why, for two years in his pocket. Pyotr 
Stepanovitch transferred these scraps of paper to his own pocket, 
and suddenly noticing that they had all gathered round, were. 
gazing at the corpse and doing nothing, he began rudely and) 
angrily abusing them and urging them on. Tolkatchenko and 
Erkel recovered themselves, and running to the grotto brought 
instantly from it two stones which they had got ready there that 
morning. These stones, which weighed about twenty pounds 
each, were securely tied with cord. As they intended to throw 
the body in the nearest of the three ponds, they proceeded to tie 
the stones to the head and feet respectively. Pyotr Stepanovitch 
fastened the stones while Tolkatchenko and Erkel only held and 


568 THE POSSESSED 


passedthem. Erkel was foremost, and while Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
grumbling and swearing, tied the dead man’s feet together with 
the cord and fastened the stone to them—a rather lengthy 
operation—Tolkatchenko stood holding the other stone at arm’s- 
length, his whole person bending forward, as it were, deferentially, 
to be in readiness to hand it without delay. It never once occurred 
to him to lay his burden on the ground in the interval. When 
at last both stones were tied on and Pyotr Stepanovitch got up 
from the ground to scrutinise the faces of his companions, some- 
thing strange happened, utterly unexpected andsurprising to 
almost every one. 

As I have said already, all except perhaps Tolkatchenko and 
Erkel were standing still doing nothing. Though Virginsky had 
rushed up to Shatov with the others he had not seized him or 
helped to hold him. Lyamshin had joined the group after the 
shot had been fired. Afterwards, while Pyotr Stepanovitch was 
busy with the corpse—for perhaps ten minutes—none of them 
seemed to have been fully conscious. They grouped themselves 
around and seemed to have felt amazement rather than anxiety 
oralarm. Liputin stood foremost, close to the corpse. Virginsky 
stood behind him, peeping over his shoulder with a peculiar, as . 
it were unconcerned, curiosity ; he even stood on tiptoe to get 
a better view. Lyamshin hid behind Virginsky. He took an 
apprehensive peep from time to time and slipped behind him 
again at once. When the stones had been tied on and Pyotr 
Stepanovitch had risen to his feet, Virginsky began faintly 
shuddering all over, clasped his hands, and cried out bitterly at 
the top of his voice : 

‘It’s not the right thing, it’s not, it’s not at all!” He 
would perhaps have added something more to his belated ex- 
clamation, but Lyamshin did not let him finish: he suddenly 
seized him from behind and squeezed him with all his might, 
uttering an unnatural shriek. There are moments of violent 
emotion, of terror, for instance, when a man will cry out in a 
voice not his own, unlike anything one could have anticipated 
from him, and this’ has sometimes a very terrible effect. 
Lyamshin gave vent to a scream more animal than human. 
Squeezing Virginsky from behind more and more tightly and 
convulsively, he went on shrieking without a pause, his mouth 
wide open and his eyes starting out of his head, keeping up a 
continual patter with his feet, as though he were beating a drum. 
Virginsky was so scared that he too screamed out like a madman, 


A BUSY NIGHT 569 


and with a ferocity, a vindictiveness that one could never have 
expected of Virginsky. He tried to pull himself away from 
Lyamshin, scratching and punching him as far as he could with 
his arms behind him. Erkel at last helped to pull Lyamshin 
away. But when, in his terror, Virginsky had skipped ten paces 
away from him, Lyamshin, catching sight of Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch, began yelling again and flew at him. Stumbling over the 
corpse, he fell upon Pyotr Stepanovitch, pressing his head to 
the latter’s chest and gripping him s0 tightly in his arms that 
Pyotr Stepanovitch, Tolkatchenko, and Liputin could all of 
them do nothing at the first moment. Pyotr Stepanovitch 
shouted, swore, beat him on the head with his fists. At last, 
wrenching himself away, he drew his revolver and put it in the 
open mouth of Lyamshin, who was still yelling and was by now 
tightly held by Tolkatchenko, Erkel, and Liputin. But Lyamshin 
went on shrieking in spite of the revolver. At last Erkel, 
crushing his silk handkerchief into a ball, deftly thrust it into 
his mouth and the shriek ceased. Meantime Tolkatchenko tied 
his hands with what was left of the rope. 

“It’s very strange,’ said Pyotr Stepanovitch, scrutinising the 
madman with uneasy wonder. He was evidently struck. ‘I 
expected something very different from him,” he added thought- 
fully. | 
They left Erkel in charge of him for a time. They had to 
make haste to get rid of the corpse: there had been so much 
noise that some one might have heard. Tolkatchenko and Pyotr 
Stepanovitch took up the lanterns and lifted the corpse by the 
head, while Liputin and Virginsky took the feet, and so they 
carried it away. With the two stones it was a heavy burden, 
and the distance was more than two hundred paces. Tolkatchenko 
was the strongest of them. He advised them to keep in step, 
but no one answered him and they all walked anyhow. Pyotr 
Stepanovitch walked on the right and, bending forward, carried 
the dead man’s head on his shoulder while with the left hand he 
supported the stone. As Tolkatchenko walked more than half 
the way without thinking of helping him with the stone, Pyotr 
Stepanovitch at last shouted at him with an oath. It was a 
single, sudden shout. They all went on carrying the body in 
silence, and it was only when they reached the pond that 
Virginsky, stooping under his burden and seeming to be 
exhausted by the weight of it, cried out again in the same loud 
and wailing voice : 


570 THE POSSESSED 


‘It’s, not’ the right thing, no, no, it’s) not the right, 
thing ! ” | 

The place to which they carried the dead man at the extreme 
end of the rather large pond, which was the farthest of the three 
from the house, was one of the most solitary and unfrequented 
spots in the park, especially at this late season of the year. At 
that end the pond was overgrown with weeds by the banks, 
They put down the lantern, swung the corpse and threw it.into 
the pond. They heard a muffled and prolonged splash. Pyotr 
Stepanovitch raised the lantern and every one followed. his 
example, peering curiously to see the body sink, but nothing 
could be seen: weighted with the two stones, the body sank at 
once. The big ripples spread over the surface of the water and 
quickly passed away. It was over. 

‘‘ Now we can separate, gentlemen,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch,, 
addressing them. ‘‘ You must certainly be feeling that pride of 
a free spirit which is inseparable from the fulfilment of a duty, 
freely undertaken. If you are unhappily at this moment: too 
much agitated for such feelings, you will certainly feel them: 
to-morrow, when, in fact, it would be shameful not to feel them. 
As for Lyamshin’s too disgraceful over-excitement, I am willing. 
to put it downto delirium, especially as they say he has: been 
really ill all day. And one instant of free reflection will convince 
you, Virginsky, that in the interests of the cause we could not 
have trusted to any word of honour, but had to act as we did. 
Subsequent events will convince. you that he was. a. traitor. 
I am ready to overlook your exclamations. As for danger, there 
is no'reason to anticipate it. It would occur to no one to suspect: 
any of us if you’ll behave sensibly; so that it really depends.on, 
yourselves and on the conviction in which I hope: you will be. 
fully confirmed to-morrow. One of the reasons why you have 
banded yourselves together into a separate branch of, a. free 
organisation representing certain views was) to support each 
other in the cause by your energy at any crisis and. if need be 
to watch over one another. The highest responsibility is» laid. 
upon each of you. You are called upon to bring new life into: 
the party which has grown decrepit and stinking with stagnation. 
Keep that always before your’eyes to give you strength. All 
that you have to do meanwhile is to bring about the downfall, 
of everything—both the government and its moral standards. 
None will be left but us, who have prepared ourselves) before-, 
hand to take over the government. The intelligent we shall 


A BUSY NIGHT 571 


bring over to our side, and as for the fools we shall mount upon 
their shoulders. You must not be shy of that. We've got to 
re-educate a generation to make them worthy of freedom. We 
shall have many thousands of Shatovs to contend with. We 
shall organise to control public opinion; it’s: shameful not to 
snatch at anything that lies idle and gaping at us. I’m going 
at once to Kirillov, and by the morning a document will be in 
existence in which he will as he dies take it all on himself by 
way of an explanation to the police. Nothing can be more 
probable than such a solution. To begin with, he was on bad 
terms with Shatov; they had lived together in America, so 
they’ve had time to quarrel., It was well known that Shatov 
had.changed his convictions, so there was hostility between them 
on that ground; and fear of treachery—that is, the most relent- 
less hostility. All that will be stated in writing. Finally, it 
will be mentioned that Fedka had been lodging with him at 
Filipov’s, so all this will:completely avert all suspicion from you, 
because it will throw all those sheep’s-heads off the scent. We 
shall. not meet to-morrow, gentlemen; I am going into the 
country for a very short time, but the day after you will hear 
from me. I should advise you to spend to-morrow at home. 
Now we will separate, going back by twos by different paths. 
You, Tolkatchenko, I’ll,ask: to look after Lyamshin and take 
him home. You may have:some influence over him ; and above 
all make him understand what harm he is doing himself by his 
cowardice. Your kinsman Shigalov, Virginsky, I am as un- 
willing to distrust as 1 am you; he will not: betray us. I can 
only regret his action. He has not, however, announced that 
he will leave the society, so it would be premature to bury him. 
Well, make haste, gentlemen. Though they are sheep’s-heads, 
there’s no harm in prudence. .. .” 

Virginsky went off with Erkel, who before giving up Lyamshin 
to Tolkatchenko brought him to Pyotr Stepanovitch, reporting 
to the latter that Lyamshin had come to his senses, was penitent 
and begged forgiveness, and indeed had no recollection of what 
had happened to him. Pyotr Stepanovitch walked off alone, 
going round by the farther side of the pond, skirting the park. 

This was the longest way. ‘To his surprise Liputin overtook 
him before he got half-way home: G 

‘* Pyotr Stepanovitch ! Pyotr Stepanovitch ! Lyamshin will 
give information ! ”’ 

* No, he will come to his senses and realise that he will be 


572 THE POSSESSED 


the first to go to Siberia if he did. No one will betray us now. 
Even you won't.” | 

‘* What about you?” 

‘No fear! V1 get you all out of the way the minute you 
attempt to turn traitors, and you know that. But you won’t 
turn traitors. Have you run a mile and a half to tell me that ? ” 

‘Pyotr Stepanovitch, Pyotr Stepanovitch, perhaps we shall 
never meet again! ”’ 

‘“* What’s put that into your head ? ” 

** Only tell me one thing.” 

“Well, what ? Though I want you to take yourself off.” 

‘One question, but answer it truly: are we the only quintet 
in the world, or is it true that there are hundreds of others ? 
It’s a question of the utmost importance to me, Pyotr 
Stepanovitch.” 

‘‘T see that from the frantic state you are in. But do you 
know, Liputin, you are more dangerous than Lyamshin ? ” 

‘‘T know, I know; but the answer, your answer! ”’ 

‘You are a stupid fellow! I should have thought it could 
make no difference to you now whether it’s the only quintet or 
one of a thousand.” 

‘‘ That means it’s the only one! I was sure of it .. .” cried 
Liputin. ‘I always knew it was the only one, I knew it all 
along.” And without waiting for any reply he turned and 
quickly vanished into the darkness. 

Pyotr Stepanovitch pondered a little. 

‘* No, no one will turn traitor,” he concluded with decision, 
“but the group must remain a group and obey, or Tl... 
What a wretched set they are though ! ” 


II 


He first went home, and carefully, without haste, packed his 
trunk. At six o’clock in the morning there was a special train 
from the town. This early morning express only ran once a 
week, and was only a recent experiment. Though Pyotr 
Stepanovitch had told the members of the quintet that he was 
only going to be away for a short time in the neighbourhood, his 
intentions, as appeared later, were in reality very different. 
Having finished packing, he settled accounts with his landlady, 


“A BUSY NIGHT 573 


to whom he had previously given notice of his departure, and 
drove in a cab to Erkel’s lodgings, near the station. And then 
just upon one o’clock at night he walked to Kirillov’s, approaching 
as before by Fedka’s secret way. 

Pyotr Stepanovitch was in a painful state of mind. Apart 
from other extremely grave reasons for dissatisfaction (he was 
still unable ‘to learn anything of Stavrogin), he had, it seems— 
for I cannot assert it for a fact—received in the course of that 
day, probably from Petersburg, secret information of a danger 
awaiting him in the immediate future. There are, of course, 
many legends in the town relating to this period; but if any 
facts were known, it was only to those immediately concerned. 
I can only surmise as my own conjecture that Pyotr Stepanovitch 
may well have had affairs going on in other neighbourhoods as 
well as in our town, so that he really may have received such a 
warning. 1 am convinced, indeed, in spite of Liputin’s cynical 
and despairing doubts, that he really had two or three other 
quintets ; for instance, in Petersburg and Moscow, and if not 
quintets at least colleagues and correspondents, and possibly was 
in very curious relations with them. Not more than three days 
after his departure an order for his immediate arrest arrived 
from Petersburg—whether in connection with what had happened 
among us, or elsewhere, I don’t know. This order only served 
to increase the overwhelming, almost panic terror which 
suddenly came upon our local authorities and the society of the 
town, till then so persistently frivolous in its attitude, on the 
discovery of the mysterious and portentous murder of the student 
Shatov—the climax of the long series of senseless actions in 
our midst—as well as the extremely mysterious circumstances 
that accompanied that murder. But the order came too late : 
Pyotr Stepanovitch was already in Petersburg, living under 
another name, and, learning what was going on, he made haste 
to make his escape abroad. ... But I am anticipating in a 
shocking way. 

He went in to Kirillov, looking ill-humoured and quarrelsome. 
Apart from the real task before him, he felt, as it were, tempted 
to satisfy some personal grudge, to avenge himself on Kirillov 
for something. Kirillov seemed pleased to see him; he had 
evidently been expecting him a long time with painful impatience. 
His face was paler than usual; there was a fixed and heavy look 
in his black eyes. 

“IT thought you weren’t coming,” he brought out drearily 


‘574 THE POSSESSED 


from his corner of the sofa, from which he had not,‘ however 
moved to greet him. | | 

Pyotr Stepanovitch stood before him and, before uttering a 
word, looked intently at his face. 

‘“‘ Everything is in order, then, and we are not: drawing back 
from our resolution. \Bravo!” He smiled an offensively 
patronising smile. ‘“‘ But, after all,” he added with unpleasant 
jocosity, “‘if ] am behind my time, it’s not for you to complain : 
I made you a present of three hours.” 

‘1 don’t want extra hours as a present from you, and you 
can’t make me a present . . . you fool!” 

“What ?” Pyotr Stepanoviteh was startled, but Sastedatdty 
controlled himself. ‘‘ What huffiness! So we are in a savage 
temper?” he rapped out, still with the same offensive super- 
ciliousness. ‘* At such a moment composure is what you need. 
The best thing you can do is to consider yourself a Columbus 
and me a mouse, and not to take offence at anything I say. 
I gave you that advice yesterday.” 

‘“T don’t want to look upon you as a mouse.” 

“‘ What’s that, a compliment ? But the tea is cold—and that 
shows that everything is topsy-turvy.. Bah! But I see some- 
thing in the window, on a plate.” He went to the window. 
‘Oh oh, boiled chicken and rice! ... . But» why haven’t you 
begun upon it yet? So we are in such a state of mind that even 
chicken’ 00472 

“Tve dined, and it’s not your business. Hold your Linge 1?’ 

““Oh, of course; besides, it’s no consequence—though for 
me at the moment it is of consequence. Only fancy, I scarcely 
had any dinner, and so if, as I suppose, that chicken is not 
wanted now . . . eh 2” 

“* Kat it if you can.”’ 

** Thank you, and then I'll have tea.” 

He instantly settled himself at the other end of the sofa and 
fell upon the chicken with extraordinary greediness; at the 
same time he kept a constant watch on his victim. Kirillov 
looked at him fixedly with angry aversion, as though unable to 
tear himself away. 

“T say, though,” Pyotr Stepanovitch fired off suddenly, while 
he still went on eating, ‘“ what about our business ? We are not 
crying off, are we? How about that document ?”’ 

‘““T’ve decided in the night that it’s nothing to me. I’ll write 
it. About the manifestoes ?.”’ | 


A BUSY NIGHT 576 

“Yes, about the manifestoes too. But Ill dictate it. Of 
course, that’s nothing to you. Can you possibly mind what’s 
inthe letter at such a moment ?”’ 

“ That’s not: your business.” 

“It’s not mine, of course. It need only be a few lines, though : 
that you and Shatov distributed the manifestoes and with the 
help of: Fedka, who hid in your lodgings. This last point about 

Fedka and your lodgings is very important—the most important 
of all) indeed. You see, I am talking to you quite openly.” 

“Shatov ? Why Shatov? I won’t mention Shatov for 
vanything.”’ 

“What next! What is it to you? ‘You ’can’t hurt him 
now.” 

“His wife has come back to him. She has waked up and has 
sent to ask me where he is.”’ 

“She has sent to ask you where he is? H’m. . . that’s 
unfortunate. She may send again; no one ought to know I am 
ohere,”’ 

Pyotr Stepanovitch was uneasy. | 

“She won’t know, she’s gone to sleep again. ‘There’sa midwife 
with her, Arina Virginsky.”’ 

“So that’s how it was. . . . She won’t overhear, I suppose ? 
I say, you'd better shut the front door.” 

‘““She won’t overhear anything. And if Shatov comes [’ll 
hide you in another room.” 

‘““Shatov won’t come ; and you must write that you quarrelled 
with him because he turned traitor and informed the police . .. 
‘this evening . . . and caused his death.” 

“He is dead!” cried Kirillov, jumping up from the sofa. 

“He died at seven. o’clock this evening, or rather, at seven 
o clock yesterday evening, and now it’s one o’clock.”’ 

“You have killed him! . . . And I foresaw it yesterday !” 

“No doubt you did! With this revolver here.” (He drew 
out his revolver as though to show it, but did not put it back 
again and still held it in his right hand as though in readiness.) 
“ You are a strange man, though, Kirillov ; you knew yourself 
that the stupid fellow was bound to end like this. What was 
there to foresee in that ? I made that as plain as possible over 
‘and over again. Shatov was meaning to betray us; I was. 
watching him, and it could not be left like that. And you too 
had instructions to watch him ;.:you told me so yourself three 
weeks ago. ...” 


576 THE POSSESSED 


““ Dold your tongue! You’ve done this because he spat in 
your face in Geneva!” 

‘“‘ For that and for other things too—for many other things ; 
not from spite, however. Why do you jump up? Why look 
like that ?. Oh oh, so that’s it, is it ?”’ 

He jumped up and held out his revolver before him. Kirillov 
had suddenly snatched up from the window his revolver, which 
had been loaded and put ready since the morning. Pyotr 
Stepanovitch took up his position and aimed his weapon at 
Kirillov. The latter laughed angrily. 

‘Confess, you scoundrel, that you brought your revolver 
because I might shoot you. ... But I shan’t shoot you... 
though ... though... .” 

And again he turned his revolver upon Pyotr Stepanovitch, as 
it were rehearsing, as though unable to deny himself the pleasure 
of imagining how he would shoot him. Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
holding his ground, waited for him, waited for him till the last 
minute without pulling the trigger, at the risk of being the 
first to get a bullet in his head: it might well be expected of 
“the maniac.” But at last “the maniac ’”’ dropped his hand, 
gasping and trembling and unable to speak. 

‘‘ You've played your little game and that’s enough.” Pyotr 
Stepanovitch, too, dropped his weapon. “I knew it was only 
a game; only you ran a risk, let me tell you: I might have 
fired.” 

And he sat down on the sofa with a fair show of composure 
and poured himself out some tea, though his hand trembled 
a little. Kirillov laid his revolver on the table and began 
walking up and down. 

‘“‘T won't write that I killed Shatov ... and I won’t write 
anything now. You won't have a document!” 

“‘T shan’t ?” 

“No, you won't.” 

*“* What meanness and what stupidity !’’ Pyotr Stepanovitch 
turned green with resentment. ‘I foresaw it, though. You’ve 
not taken me by surprise, let me tell you. As you please, 
however. If I could make you do it by force, I would. You are 
a scoundrel, though.’ Pyotr Stepanovitch was more and more 
carried away and unable to restrain himself. ‘“‘ You asked’us 
for money out there and promised us no end of things. ... 
I won’t go away with nothing, however: I'll see you put the 
bullet through your brains first, anyway.” 


A BUSY NIGHT (577 


*T want you to go away at once.’ Kirillov stood. firmly 
before him. MEY. Many te 

“No, that’s impossible.’’ Pyotr Stepanovitch took up his 
revolver again. ‘‘ Now in your spite and cowardice you may 
think fit to put it off and to turn traitor to-morrow, so as.to get 
money again; they'll pay you for that, of course. Damn it all, 
fellows like you are capable of anything! Only don’t trouble 
yourself ; I’ve provided for all contingencies: I am not going 
till I’ve dashed your brains out with this revolver, as I did to 
that scoundrel Shatov, if you are afraid to do it yourself and 
put off your intention, damn you !” 

“You are set on seeing my blood, too ?”’ 

“Tam not acting from spite; let me tell you, it’s. nothing 
to me. Iam doing it to be at ease about the cause. One can’t 
rely on men; you see that for yourself. I don’t understand 
what fancy possesses you to put yourself to death. It wasn’t 
my idea; you thought of it yourself before I appeared, and 
talked of your intention to the committee abroad before you said 
anything to me. And you know, no one has forced it out of 
you; no one of them knew you, but you came to confide in them 
yourself, from sentimentalism. And what’s to be done if a plan 
of action here, which can’t be altered now, was founded upon that 
with your consent and upon your suggestion? . . . your sugges- 
tion, mind that! ‘You have put yourself in a position in which 
you know too much. If you are an ass and go off to-morrow to 
inform the police, that would be rather a disadvantage to us ; 
what do you think about it? Yes, you’ve bound yourself ; 
you ve given your word, you’ve taken money. That you can’t 
PEAR srk.” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch was much excited, but for some time past 
Kirillov had not been listening. He paced up and down the 
room, lost in thought again. 

‘““T am sorry for Shatov,”’ he said, stopping before Pyotr 
Stepanovitch again. 

‘Why so? Iam sorry, if that’s all, and do you suppose... 

“Hold your tongue, you scoundrel,” roared Kirillov, 
making an alarming and unmistakable movement; “J’ll kill 

ou.” 
a ‘‘ There, there, there! I told a lie, ladmitit; Iam not sorry 
at all. Come, that’s enough, that’s enough.” Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch started up apprehensively, putting out his hand. 


Kirillov subsided and began walking up and down again. 
20%: 


33 


578 THE POSSESSED 


“I won't put it off; I want to kill myself now: all are scoun- 
drels.”’ | 

‘“* Well, that’s an idea ; of course all are scoundrels ; and since 
life is a beastly thing for a decent man .. .” 

‘* Fool, I am just such a scoundrel as you, as all, not a decent 
man. ‘There’s never been a decent man anywhere.”’ 

‘“*He’s guessed the truth at last! Can you, Kirillov, with 
your sense, have failed to see till now that all men are alike, 
that there are none better or worse, only some are stupider than 
others, and that if all are scoundrels (which is nonsense, though) 
there oughtn’t to be any people that are not ?”’ 

“Ah! Why, you are really in earnest?’ Kirillov 
looked at him with some wonder. ‘‘ You speak with heat and 
simply. . .. Can it be that even fellows like you have 
convictions ?” 

*“* Kirillov, I’ve never been able to understand why you mean 
to kill yourself. I only know it’s from conviction . . . strong 
conviction. But if you feel a yearning to express yourself, so 
to say, I am at your service. . . . Only you must think of the 
time.” 

*“* What time is it ?” 

*““ Oh oh, just two.”’ Pyotr Stepanovitch looked at his watch 
and lighted a cigarette. 

**It seems we can come to terms after all,” he reflected. 

**Tve nothing to say to you,” muttered Kirillov. 

“I remember that something about God comes into it... 
you explained it to me once—twice, in fact. If you shoot 
yourself, you become God ; that’s it, isn’t it ?”’ 

““ Yes, I become God.” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch did not even smile; he waited. Kirillov 
looked at him subtly. 

“You are a political imposter and intriguer. You want to 
lead me on into philosophy and enthusiasm and to bring about 
a reconciliation so as to disperse my anger, and then, when I 
am reconciled with you, beg from me a note to say I killed 
Shatov.” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch answered with almost natural frankness. 

“Well, supposing I am such a scoundrel. But at the last 
moments does that matter to you, Kirillov? What are we 
quarrelling about ? Tell me, please. You are one sort of man 
and I am another—what of it? And what’s more, we are both 
of us...” 


A BUSY NIGHT 579 


** Scoundrels.” 

** Yes, scoundrels if you like. But you know that that’s only 
words.”’ 

* All my life I wanted it not to be only words. I lived because 
I did not want it to be. Even now every day I want it to be 
not words.” 

** Well, every one seeks to be where he is best off. The fish 

. that is, every one seeks his own comfort, that’s all. That’s 
been a commonplace for ages and ages.”’ 

“Comfort, do you say ?”’ 

* Oh, it’s not worth while quarrelling over words.” 

““No, you were right in what you said; let it be comfort. 
God is necessary and so must exist.” 

“* Well, that’s all right, then.” 

_ “ But I know He doesn’t and can’t.” 

“* That’s more likely.” 

“Surely you must understand that a man with two such ideas 
can’t go on living ?”’ 

** Must shoot himself, you mean ?”’ 

‘Surely you must understand that one might shoot oneself 
for that alone 2? You don’t understand that there may be a man, 
one man out of your thousands of millions, one man who won’t 
bear it and does not want to.”’ 

*“‘ All I understand is that you seem to be hesitating. . 
That’s very bad.” 

““Stavrogin, too, is consumed by an idea,’ Kirillov said 
gloomily, pacing up and down the room. He had not noticed 
the previous remark. 

“What ?”’ Pyotr Stepanovitch pricked up his ears. ‘“‘ What. 
idea? Did he tell you something himself ? ” 

“‘ No, I guessed it myself: if Stavrogin has faith, he does not 
believe that he has faith. If he hasn’t faith, he does not believe 
that he hasn’t.”’ 

“Well, Stavrogin has got something else wiser than that in 
his head,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch muttered peevishly, uneasily 
watching the turn the conversation had taken and the pallor of 
Kirillov. 

“Damn it all, he won’t shoot himself!” he was thinking. 
**T always suspected it; it’s a maggot in the brain and nothing 
more; what a rotten lot of people !”’ 

‘‘ You are the last to be with me; I shouldn’t like to part on. 
bad terms with you,” Kirillov vouchsafed suddenly. 


580 THE POSSESSED 


Pyotr Stepanovitch did not answer at once. * Damm it all, 
what is it now ?”’ he thought again. 

‘“*T assure you, Kirillov, ] have nothing against you personally 
as a@ man, and always...” 

“You are a scoundrel and a false intellect. But I am just 
the same as you are, and I will shoot myself while you will 
remain living.”’ 

‘“ You mean to say, I am so abject that I want to An on 
living.” 

He could not make up his mind clea it was indioinie oe 
keep up such a conversation iat such a moment or not,’ and 
resolved “to be guided: by circumstances.’ But the tone of 
superiority and of contempt for him, which Kirillov had never 
disguised, had always irritated him, and now for some reason it 
irritated him more than ever—possibly because Kirillov, who 
was to die within an hour or so (Pyotr Stepanovitch still reckoned 
upon this), seemed to him, as it were, already only half a man, 
some creature whom he could not allow to be haughty. 

‘““ ‘You seem to be boasting to me of your shooting yourself.” 

‘‘ [ve always been surprised at every one’s going on living,” 
said Kirillov, not hearing his remark. ( 

‘H’m! Admitting that’s an idea, but .. .” 

““You ape, you assent to get the’ better of me. Hold your 
tongue; you won’t understand anything. If there is no God, 
then I am God.” 

“There, I could never understand that point of yours: why 
are you God ?”’ 

“ Tf God exists, all is His will ad from His will IT cannot escape. 
If not, it’s all my will and Iam bound to show self-will.” 

*“* Self-will ? But why are you bound ?”’ 

“* Because all will has become mine. Can it be that no one in 
the whole planet, after making an end of God and believing in 
his own will, will dare to express his self-will on the most. vital 
point ? It’s like a beggar inheriting a fortune and being afraid 
of it and not daring to approach the bag of gold, thinking himself 
too weak to own it. »1 want to manifest my self-will. I may 
be the only one, but [ll do it.” 9 

‘Do it by all means.”’ | 

“T am bound to shoot myself because the highest point of 
my self-will is to kill myself with my own hands.” 

‘““ But you won’t be the only one to kill yourself; there are 
lots of suicides.” | 


A BUSY NIGHT 681 


» “With good cause. But to do it without any cause at all, 
simply for self-will, I am the only one.’ 

** He won’t shoot himself,’’ flashed across Pyotr Stepanovitch’s 

mind: again. 
-* Do you know,” he observed irvitably, ‘ “if I were in your place 
I should kill some one else to show my self-will, not myself. You 
might be of use. Ill tell you whom, if you are not afraid. Then 
you needn’ t weg yourself to-day, perhaps. We may come to 
terms.”’ 

‘“'To kill some one would be the lowest point of self-will, and 
you show your whole soul in that. I am not you: I want the 
highest point and I’ll kill myself.” 

‘“* He’s come to it of himself,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch muttered 
malignantly. 

*“I am bound to show my unbelief,” hid Kirillov, walking 
about the room. “I have no higher idea than disbelief in God. 
I have all the history of mankind on my side. Man has done 
nothing but invent God so as to go on living, and not kill him- 
self; that’s the whole of universal history up till now. I am 
the first one in the whole history of mankind who would not 
invent God. Let them know it once for all.” 

“He won't shoot himself,” Pyotr Stepanovitch thought 
Sete 

‘Let whom know it 2” he said, egsing him on. “It’s only 
you and me here; you mean Liputin q? 

** Let every one know; all will know. ‘There is nothing secret 
that will not be made known. He said so.” 

And he pointed with feverish enthusiasm to the image of the 
Saviour, before which a lamp was burning. Pyotr Stepanovitch 
lost his temper completely. 

**So you still believe in Him, and you’ve lighted the lamp ; 
‘to be on the safe side,’ I suppose ¢”’ 

The other did not speak. | 

*“Do you know, to my thinking, you pling perhaps more 
thoroughly than any priest.”’ 

‘Believe in whom ? In Him? Listen.” Kirillov stood still, 
gazing before him with fixed and ecstatic look. ‘‘ Listen to a 
great idea: there was a day on earth, and in the midst of the 
earth there stood three crosses. One on the Cross had such 
faith that he said to another, ‘To-day thou shalt be with me 
in Paradise.’ The day ended; both died and passed away 
and found neither Paradise nor resurrection. His words did 


582 THE POSSESSED 


not come true. Listen: that Man was the loftiest of all on 
earth, He was that which gave meaning to life. The whole 
planet, with everything on it, is mere madness without that 
Man. There has never been any like Him before or since, never, 
up to a miracle. For that is the miracle, that there never was 
or never will be another like Him. And if that is so, if the 
laws of nature did not spare even Him, have not spared even 
their miracle and made even Him live in a lie and die for a lie, 
then all the planet is a lie and rests on a lie and on mockery. So 
then, the very laws of the planet are a lie and the vaudeville of 
devils. What is there to live for? Answer, if you are a man.” 

‘“ That’s a different matter. 1t seems to me you’ve mixed up 
two different causes, and that’s a very unsafe thing to do. But 
excuse me, if you are God? If the lie were ended and if you 
realised that all the falsity comes from the belief in that former 
God ?” 

‘So at last you understand!” cried Kirillov rapturously. 
‘* So it can be understood if even a fellow like you understands. 
Do you understand now that the salvation for all consists in 
proving this idea to every one? Who will prove it? I! I 
can’t understand how an atheist could know that there is no 
God and not kill himself on the spot. To recognise that there 
is no God and not to recognise at the same instant that one is 
God oneself is an absurdity, else one would certainly kill oneself. 
If you recognise it you are sovereign, and then you won’t kill 
yourself but will live in the greatest glory. But one, the first, 
must kill himself, for else who will begin and prove it? So I 
must certainly kill myself, to begin and prove it. Now I am 
only a god against my will and [ am unhappy, because I am 
bound to assert my will. All are unhappy because all are afraid 
to express their will. Man has hitherto been so unhappy and 
so poor because he has been afraid to assert his will in the highest 
point and has shown his self-will only in little things, like a 
schoolboy. I am awfully unhappy, for I’m awfully afraid. 
Terror is the curse of man. . . . But I will assert my will, I am 
bound to believe that I don’t believe. I will begin and will 
make an end of it and open the door, and will save. That’s the 
only thing that will save mankind and will re-create the next 
generation physically ; for with his present physical nature man 
can’t get on without his former God, I believe. For three years 
I’ve been seeking for the attribute of my godhead and I’ve 
found it; the attribute of my godhead is self-will! That’s all 


A BUSY NIGHT 583 


I can do to prove in the highest point my independence and my 
new terrible freedom. For it is very terrible. I am killing 
myself to prove my independence and my new terrible freedom.” 

His face was unnaturally pale, and there was a terribly heavy 
look in his eyes. He was like a man in delirium. Pyotr 
Stepanovitch thought he would drop on to the floor. 

“Give me the pen!” Kiurillov cried suddenly, quite unex- 
pectedly, in a positive frenzy. ‘‘ Dictate; Ill sign anything. 
I’ll sign that I killed Shatov even. Dictate while it amuses me. 
I am not afraid of what the haughty slaves will think! You 
will see for yourself that all that is secret shall be made manifest ! 
And you will be crushed. . . . I believe, I believe!” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch jumped up from his seat and instantly 
handed him an inkstand and paper, and began dictating, seizing 
the moment, quivering with anxiety. 

“‘ 1, Alexey Kirillov, declare .. .” 

“Stay; I won’t! To whom am [I declaring it?” 

Kirillov was shaking as though he were in a fever. This 
declaration and the sudden strange idea of it seemed to absorb 
him entirely, as though it were a means of escape by which his 
tortured spirit strove for a moment’s relief. 

‘To whom am I declaring it? I want to know to whom ?” 

“To no one, every one, the first person who reads it. Why 
define it ? The whole world!” 

“The whole world! Bravo! And I won't have any 
repentance. I don’t want penitence and I don’t want it for the 
police !”’ 

‘* No, of course, there’s no need of it, damn the police! Write, 
if you are in earnest !”’ Pyotr Stepanovitch cried hysterically. 

“Stay! I want to put at the top a face with the tongue out.” 

*‘ Ech, what nonsense,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch crossly, 
“‘ you can express all that without the drawing, by—the tone.” 

“By the tone? That’s true. Yes, by the tone, by the tone 
of it. Dictate, the tone.” 

“J, Alexey Kirillov,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch dictated firmly and 
peremptorily, bending over Kirillov’s shoulder and following 
every letter which the latter formed with a hand trembling with 
excitement, ‘“‘ I, Kirillov, declare that to-day, the —th October, 
at about eight o’clock in the evening, I killed the student Shatov 
in the park for turning traitor and giving information of the 
manifestoes and of Fedka, who has been lodging with us for ten 
days in Filipov’s house. I am shooting myself to-day with my 


584 THE POSSESSED 


revolver, not because I repent and am afraid of you, but because 
when I was abroad I made up my mind to put an end to my 
life.” 

“Ts that all ?”’ cried Kirillov with surprise and indignation. 

“Not another word,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, waving his 
hand, attempting to snatch the document from him. 

“Stay.” Kirillov put his hand firmly on the paper. “‘ Stay, 
it’s nonsense! I want to say with whom I killed him. Why 
Fedka ? And what about the fire? I want it all and I want to 
be abusive in tone, too, in tone !”’ 

“Enough, Kirillov, I assure you it’s enough,” cried Pyotr 
Stepanovitch almost imploringly, trembling lest he should tear 
up the paper; “‘ that they may believe you, you must say it 
as obscurely as possible, just like that, simply in hints. You 
must only give them a peep of the truth, just enough to tantalise 
them. They’ll tell a story better than ours, and of course they’ll 
believe themselves more than they would us; and you know, 
it’s better than anything—better than anything! Let me have 
it, it’s splendid as it is; give it to me, give it to me!” 

And he kept trying to snatch the paper. Kirillov listened 
open-eyed and appeared to be trying to reflect, but he seemed 
beyond understanding now. 

*“Damn it all,’ Pyotr Stepanovitch cried all at once, ill- 
humouredly, “he hasn’t signed it! Why are you staring like 
that ? Sign!” 

‘“‘T want to abuse them,’’ muttered Kirillov. He took the 
pen, however, and signed. ‘“‘I want to abuse them.”’ 

* Write ‘ Vive la république,’ and that will be enough.” 

Bravo!’ Kirillov almost bellowed with delight. ‘ Vive la 
république démocratique sociale et universelle ow la mort!’ No, 
no, that’s not it. ‘ Liberté, égalité, fraternité ou la mort.’ There, 
that’s better, that’s better.’’ He wrote it gleefully under his 
signature. 

‘““ Enough, enough,” repeated Pyotr Stepanovitch. 

“Stay, a little more. I'll sign it again in French, you know. 
* De Kirilloff, gentithomme russe et citoyen du monde. Ha ha!” 
He went off in a peal of laughter. “No, no, no; stay. Ive 
found something better than all. Eureka! ‘ Gentilhomme, 
séminariste russe et citoyen du monde civilisé!’ That's better 
than any. ...’ He jumped up from the sofa and suddenly, 
with a rapid gesture, snatched up the revolver from the window, 
ran with it into the next room, and closed the door behind him. 


A BUSY NIGHT 585 


Pyotr Stepanovitch stood for a moment, pondering and gazing 
at the door. | ; 
“Tf he does it at once, perhaps he’ll do it, but if he begins 
thinking, nothing will come of it.” 

Meanwhile he took up the paper, sat down, and looked at it 
again. The wording of the document pleased him again. 

*““ What’s needed for the moment ? What’s wanted is to throw 
them all off the scent and keep them busy for atime. The park ? 
There’s no park in the town and they’ll guess its Skvoreshniki 
of themselves. But while they are arriving at that, time will 
be passing; then the search will take time too; then when 
they find the body it will prove that the story is true, and it will 
follow that’s it all true, that it’s true about Fedka too. And 
Fedka explains the fire, the Lebyadkins; so that it was all 
being hatched here, at Filipov’s, while they overlooked it and 
saw nothing—that will quite turn their heads! They will never 
think of the quintet; Shatov and Kirillov and Fedka and 
Lebyadkin, and why they killed each other—that will be another 
question for them. Oh, damn it all, I don’t hear the 
shot !” 

Though he had been reading and admiring the wording of it, 
he had been listening anxiously all the time, and he suddenly 
flew into a rage. He looked anxiously at his watch; it was 
getting late and it was fully ten minutes since Kirillov had gone 
out. . . . Snatching up the candle, he went to the door of the 
room where Kirillov had shut himself up. He was just at the 
door when the thought struck him that the candle had burnt 
out, that it would not last another twenty minutes, and that 
there was no other in the room. He took hold of the handle 
and listened warily; he did not hear the slightest sound. He 
suddenly opened the door and lifted up the candle: something 
uttered a roar and rushed at him. He slammed the door with 
all his might and pressed his weight against it; but all sounds 
died away and again there was deathlike stillness. 

He stood for a long while irresolute, with the candle in his 
hand. He had been able to see very little in the second he held 
the door open, but he had caught a glimpse of the face of Kirillov 
standing at the other end of the room by the window, and the 
savage fury with which the latter had rushed upon him. Pyotr 
Stepanovitch started, rapidly set the candle on the table, made 
ready his revolver, and retreated on tiptoe to the farthest corner 
of the room, so that if Kirillov opened the door and rushed up 


586 THE POSSESSED 


to the table with the revolver he would still have time to be the | 
first to aim and fire. 

Pyotr Stepanovitch had by now lost all faith in the Buide, | 
‘‘ He was standing in the middle of the room, thinking,”’ flashed 
like a whirlwind through Pyotr Stepanovitch’s mind, “‘ and the 
room was dark and horrible too. ... He roared and rushed 
at me. There are two possibilities: either I interrupted him 
at the very second when he was pulling the trigger or . . . or 
he was standing planning how to kill me. Yes, that’s it, he was 
planning it. . . . He knows I won’t go away without killing him 
if he funks it himself—so that he would have to kill me first to 
prevent my killing him. .. . And again, again there is silence. 
Iam really frightened : he may open the door all of a sudden. . . 
The nuisance of it is that he believes in God like any priest. . . . 
He won’t shoot himself for anything! There are lots of these 
people nowadays ‘ who’ve come to it of themselves.’ A rotten 
lot ! Oh, damn it, the candle, the candle! It'll go out within 
a quarter of an hour for certain. . . . 1 must put a stop to it; 
come what may, I must put a stop to it... . Now I can kill 
him. . . . With that document here no one would think of my 
killing him. I can put him in such an attitude on the floor 
with an unloaded revolver in his hand that they’d be certain 
he’d done it himself. ... Ach, damn it! how is one to kill 
him ?. If I open the door he’ll rush out again and shoot me 
first. Daman it all, he’ll be sure to miss ! ”’ 

He was in agonies, trembling at the necessity of action and 
his own indecision. At last he took up the candle and again 
approached the door with the revolver held up in readiness ; 
he put his left hand, in which he held the candle, on the door- 
handle. But he managed awkwardly: the handle clanked, 
there was a rattle and a creak. “‘ He will fire straightway,” 
flashed through Pyotr Stepanovitch’s mind. With his foot he 
flung the door open violently, raised the candle, and held out 
the revolver; but no shot nor cry came from within. ... 
There was no one in the room. 

He started. The room led nowhere. There was no exit, 
no means of escape from it. He lifted the candle higher and 
looked about him more attentively : there was certainly no one. 
He called Kirillov’s name in a low voice, then again louder ; 
no one answered. 

“Can he have got out by the window?” The casement in 
one window was, in fact, open. “‘Absurd! He couldn’t have 


A BUSY NIGHT 587 


got away through the casement.” Pyotr Stepanovitch crossed 
the room and went up to the window. ‘ He couldn’t possibly.”’ 
Ail at once he turned round quickly and was aghast at something 
extraordinary. 

Against the wall facing the sitlidlolers on the right of the door 
stood a cupboard. On the right side of this cupboard, in the 
corner formed by the cupboard and the wall, stood Kirillov, 
and he was standing in a very strange way ; motionless, perfectly 
erect, with his arms held stiffly at his sides, his head raised and 
pressed tightly back against the wall in the very corner, he seemed 
to be trying to conceal and efface himself. Everything seemed 
to show that he was hiding, yet somehow it was not easy to believe 
it. Pyotr Stepanovitch was standing a little sideways to the 
corner, and could only see the projecting parts of the figure. 
He could not bring himself to move to the left to get a full view 
of Kirillov and solve the mystery. His heart began beating 
violently, and he felt a sudden rush of blind fury: he started 
from where he stood, and, shouting and stamping with his feet, 
he rushed to the horrible place. 

But when he reached Kirillov he stopped short again, still 
more overcome, horror-stricken. What struck him most was 
that; in spite of his shout and his furious rush, the figure did 
not stir, did not move in a single limb—as though it were of stone 
or of wax. The pallor of the face was unnatural, the black eyes 
were quite unmoving and were staring away at a point in the 
distance. Pyotr Stepanovitch lowered the candle and raised 
it again, lighting up the figure from all points of view and scruti- 
nising it. He suddenly noticed that, although Kirillov was 
looking straight before him, he could see him and was perhaps 
watching him out of the corner of hiseye. Then the idea occurred 
to him to hold the candle right up to the wretch’s face, to scorch 
him and see what he would do. He suddenly fancied that 
Kirillov’s chin twitched and that something like a mocking 
smile passed over his lips—as though he had guessed Pyotr 
Stepanovitch’s thought. He shuddered and, beside himself, 
clutched violently at Kirillov’s shoulder. 

Then something happened so hideous and so soon over that 
Pyotr Stepanovitch could never afterwards recover a coherent 
impression of it. He had hardly touched Kirillov when the latter 
bent down quickly and with his head knocked the candle 
out of Pyotr Stepanovitch’s hand; the candlestick fell with a 
clang on the ground and the candle went out. At the same 


588 THE POSSESSED 


moment he was conscious of a fearful pain in the little finger 
of his left hand. He cried out, and all that he could remember 
was that, beside himself, he hit out with all his might and struck 
three blows with the revolver on the head of Kirillov, who had 
bent down to him and had bitten his finger. At last he tore 
away his finger and rushed headlong to get out of the house; 
feeling his way in the dark. He was pursued by terrible shouts 
from the room. | 

“‘ Directly, directly, directly, directly.’? Ten times. But 
he still ran on, and was running into the porch when he suddenly 
heard a loud shot. Then he stopped short in the dark porch 
and stood deliberating for five minutes; at last he made his 
way back into the house. But he had to get the candle. He 
had only to feel on the floor on the right of the cupboard for the 
candlestick; but how was he to light the candle? There 
suddenly came into his mind a vague recollection: he recalled 
that when he had run into the kitchen the day before to attack 
Fedka he had noticed in passing a large red box of matches in 
a corner on a shelf. Feeling with his hands, he made his way 
to the door on the left leading to the kitchen, found it, crossed 
the passage, and went down the steps. On the shelf, on the 
very spot where he had just recalled seeing it, he felt in the 
dark a full unopened box of matches. He hurriedly went up 
the steps again without striking a light, and it was only when 
he was near the cupboard, at the spot where he had struck 
Kirillov with the revolver and been bitten by him, that he 
remembered his bitten finger, and at the same instant was 
conscious that it was unbearably painful. Clenching his teeth, 
he managed somehow to light the candle-end, set it in the candle- 
stick again, and looked about him: near the open casement, 
with his feet towards the right-hand corner, lay the dead body 
of Kirillov. The shot had been fired at the right temple and 
the bullet had come out at the top on the left, shattering the 
skull. There were splashes of blood and brains. The revolver 
was still in the suicides hand on the floor. Death must 
have been instantaneous. After a careful look round, Pyotr 
Stepanovitch got up and went out on tiptoe, closed the door, 
left the candle on the table in the outer room, thought a moment, 
and resolved not to put it out, reflecting that it could not possibly 
set fire to anything. Looking once more at the document left 
on the table, he smiled mechanically and then went out of the 
house, still for some reason walking on tiptoe. He crept through 


A BUSY NIGHT 589 


Fedka’s ‘hole’ again’ and rahe replaced the posts after 
him. 


TEE! 


Precisely at ten minutes to six Pyotr Stepanovitch and Erkel 
were walking up and down the platform at the railway-station 
beside a rather long train. Pyotr Stepanovitch was setting off 
and Erkel was saying good-bye to him. The luggage was in, 
and his bag was in the seat he had taken in a'second-class carriage. 
The first bell had rung already; they were waiting for the | 
second. Pyotr Stepanovitch looked about him, openly watching 
the passengers as they got into the train. But he did not meet 
anyone he knew well; only twice he nodded to acquaintances— 
a merchant whom: he knew slightly, and then a young village 
priest who was going to his parish two stations away. Erkel 
evidently wanted to speak of something of importance in the 
last moments, though possibly he did not himself know exactly 
of what, but he could not bring himself to begin! He kept 
fancying that Pyotr Stepanovitch seemed anxious to get rid of 
him and was impatient for the last bell. 

*“You look at every one so openly,” he observed with some 
timidity, as though he would have warned him. 

“Why not? It would not do for me to conceal myself at 
present. It’s too soon. Don’t. be uneasy. All 1 am afraid of 
is that the devil might send Liputin this way; he might. scent 
me out and race off here.” 

“Pyotr Stepanovitch, they are not to be trusted,’ Erkel 
brought out resolutely. 

** Liputin ?” 

** None of them, Pyotr ea CE v 

“Nonsense ! they are all bound by wiat Kdionlincll yesterday. 
There isn’t one who would turn traitor. People won’t go to 
certain destruction unless they’ve lost their reason.” 

‘“‘ Pyotr Stepanovitch, but they will lose their reason.” 

Evidently that idea had already occurred to Pyotr Stepano- 
_ vitch too, and so Erkel’s observation irritated him the more. 

“You are not in a funk too, are you, Erkel? I rely on you 
more than on any of them. I’ve seen now what each of them 
is worth. Tell them to-day all I’ve told you. I leave them 
in your charge. Go round to each of them this morning. Read 


590 THE POSSESSED 


them my written instructions to-morrow, or the day after, when 
you are all together and they are capable of listening again .. . 
and believe me, they will be by to-morrow, for they’ll be in an 
awtul funk, and that will make them as soft as wax. ... The 
great thing is that you shouldn’t be downhearted.” 

‘* Ach, Pyotr Btopanoaecy it would be better if you weren’t 
going away.’ 

a But I am only going for a few days; I shall be back in no 
time.” 

‘‘ Pyotr Stepanovitch,”’ Erkel brought out warily but reso- 
lutely, “‘ what if you were going to Petersburg? Of course, 
I understand that you are only doing what’s necessary for the 
cause.” 

‘“‘T expected as much from you, Erkel. Ifyou have guessed 
that I am going to Petersburg you can realise that I couldn’t 
tell them yesterday, at that moment, that I was going so far 
for fear of frightening them. You saw for yourself what a state 
they werein. But you understand that I am going for the cause, 
for work of the first importance, for the common cause, and not 
to save my skin, as Liputin imagines.” 

‘“‘ Pyotr Stepanovitch, what if you were going abroad? I[ 
should understand . . . I should understand that you must be 
careful of yourself because you are everything and we are nothing. 
I shall understand, Pyotr Stepanovitch.”’ 

The poor boy’s voice actually quivered. 

*‘ Thank you, Erkel. . . . Aie, you’ve touched my bad finger.”’ 
(Erkel had pressed his hand awkwardly; the bad finger was 
discreetly bound up in black silk.) ‘‘ But I tell you positively 
again that I am going to Petersburg only to sniff round, and 
perhaps shall only be there for twenty-four hours and then back 
here-again at once. When I come back I shall stay at Gaganov’s 
country place for the sake of appearances. If there is any notion 
of danger, I should be the first to take the lead and share it. 
If I stay longer in Petersburg [ll let you know at once... in 
the way we've arranged, and you'll tell them.” 

The second bell rang. 

*“‘ Ab, then there’s only five minutes before the train starts. 
I don’t want the group here to break up, you know. I am not 
afraid; don’t be anxious about me. I have plenty of such 
centres, and it’s not much consequence ; but there’s no harm in 
having as many centres as possible. But I am quite at ease 
about you, though I am leaving you almost alone with those 


A BUSY NIGHT 591 


idiots. Don’t be uneasy ; they won’t turn traitor, they won’t 
have the pluck. .. . Haha, you going to-day too?” he cried 
suddenly in a quite different, cheerful voice to a very young man, 
who came up gaily to greet him. “I didn’t know you were 
going by the express too. Where are you off to... to your 
mother’s ?”’ 

The mother of the young man was a very wealthy landowner 
in a neighbouring province, and the young man was a distant 
relation of Yulia Mihailovna’s and had been staying about a 
fortnight in our town. 

‘““No, Iam going farther, to R I’ve eight hours to live 
through in the train. Off to Petersburg ?”’ larghed the young 
man. 

‘‘ What makes you suppose I must be going to Petersburg ?”’ 
said Pyotr Stepanovitch, laughing even more openly. 

The young man shook his gloved finger at him. 

“Well, you’ve guessed right,” Pyotr Stepanovitch whispered 
to him mysteriously. “I am going with letters from Yulia 
Mihailovna and have to call on three or four personages, as 
you can imagine—bother them all, to speak candidly. It’s 
a beastly job!” 

** But why is she in such a panic? ‘Tell me,” the young man 
whispered too. “She wouldn’t see even me yesterday. I don’t 
think she has anything to fear for her husband, quite the con- 
trary ; he fell down so creditably at the fire—ready to sacrifice 
his life, so to speak.”’ 

** Well, there it is,’ laughed Pyotr Stepanovitch. ‘‘ You see, 
she is afraid that people may have written from here already . . . 
that is, some gentlemen. . . . The fact is, Stavrogin is at the 
bottom of it, or rather Prince K. ... Ech, it’s a long story ; 
I'll tell you something about it on the journey if you like—as 
far as my chivalrous feelings will allow me, at least. . . . This 
is my relation, Lieutenant Erkel, who lives down here.” 

The young man, who had been stealthily glancing at Erkel, 
touched his hat; Erkel made a bow. 

** But I say, Verhovensky, eight hours in the train is an awful 
ordeal. Berestov, the colonel, an awfully funny fellow, is 
travelling with me in the first class. He is a neighbour of ours 
in the country, and his wife is a Garin (née de Garine), and you . 
know he is a very decent fellow. He’s got ideas too. He’s only 
been here a couple of days. He’s passionately fond of whist ; 
couldn’t we get up a game, eh? I’ve already fixed on a fourth— 





592 THE POSSESSED 


Pripuhlov, our merchant from T with a beard, a millionaire— 
I mean it, a real millionaire ; you can take my word forit. . .. 
(ll introduce you; he is a very interesting money-bag. We 
shall have a laugh.” 

**T shall be delighted, and I am awfully fond of cards in the > 
train, but I am going second class.”’ 

““ Nonsense, that’s no matter. Get in with us. I'll tell them 
directly to move you to the first class. The chief guard would 
doanything I tell him. What have you got ?...abag? arug?” 

** First-rate. Come along!” 

Pyotr Stepanovitch took his bag, his rug, and his book, and 
at once and with alacrity transferred himself to the first class. 
Erkel helped him. The third bell rang. 

“Well, Erkel.” Hurriedly, and with a preoccupied air, Pyotr 
Stepanovitch held out his hand from the window for the last 
time. ‘* You see, I am sitting down to cards with them.” 

“Why explain, Pyotr Stepanovitch? I understand, I 
understand it all!” 

“Well, au revoir,” Pyotr Stepanovitch turned away suddenly 
on his name being called by the young man, who wanted to 
introduce him to his partners. And Erkel saw nothing more of 
Pyotr Stepanovitch. 

He returned home very sad. Not that he was alarmed at 
Pyotr Stepanovitch’s leaving them so suddenly, but... . he 
had turned away from him so quickly when that young swell had 
called to him and . . . he might have said something different 
to him, not “ Au revoir,” or... or at least have pressed 
his hand more warmly. That last was bitterest of all. Some- 
thing else was beginning to gnaw.in his poor little heart, some- 
thing which he could not understand himself yet, something 
eonnected with the evening before. 





CHAPTER VIL _ 
STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 


I 


_j am persuaded that Stepan Trofimovitch was terribly frightened 
as he felt the time fixed for his insane enterprise drawing near. 
I am convinced that he suffered dreadfully from terror, especially 
on the night before he started—that awful night. Nastasya 
mentioned afterwards that he had gone to bed late and fallen 
asleep. But that proves nothing ; men sentenced to death sleep 
very soundly, they say, even the night before their execution. 
Though he set off by daylight, when a nervous man is always a 
little more confident (and the major, Virginsky’s relative, used 
to give up believing in God every morning when the night was 
over), yet I am convinced he could never, without horror, have 
imagined himself alone on the high road in such a position. 
No doubt a certain desperation in his feelings softened at first 
the terrible sensation of sudden solitude in which he at once 
found himself as soon as he had left Nastasya, and the corner in 
which he had been warm and snug for twenty years. But it made 
no difference ; even with the clearest recognition of all the horrors 
awaiting him he would have gone out to the high road and 
' walked alongit! There was something proud in the undertaking 
' which allured him in spite of everything. Oh, he might have 
accepted Varvara Petrovna’s luxurious provision and have 
remained living on her charity, “comme un humble dependent.”’ 
But he had not accepted her charity and was not remaining ! 
And here he was leaving her of himself, and holding aloft the 
‘“‘ standard of a great idea, and going to die for it on the open 
road.”’ That is how he must have been feeling; that’s how his 
action must have appeared to him. 

Another question presented itself to me more than once. 
Why did he run away, that is, literally run away on foot, rather 
than simply drive away? I put it down at first to the im- 
practicability of fifty years and the fantastic bent of his mind 
under the influence of strong emotion. I imagined that the 
thought of posting tickets and horses (even if they had belis) 
would have seemed too simple and prosaic to him ; a pilgrimage, 

593 op 


594 THE POSSESSED 


on the other hand, even under an umbrella, was ever so much | 
more picturesque and in character with love and resentment. 
But now that everything is over, [ am inclined to think that it 
all came about in a much simpler way. To begin with, he was 
afraid to hire horses because Varvara Petrovna might have 
heard of it and prevented him from going by force; which she 
certainly would have done, and he certainly would have given 
in, and then farewell to the great idea forever. Besides, to take 
tickets for anywhere he must have known at least where he 
was going. But to think about that was the greatest agony to 
him at that moment ; he was utterly unable to fix upon a place. 
For if he had to fix on any particular town his enterprise would 
at once have seemed in his own eyes absurd and impossible ; he 
felt that very strongly. What should he do in that particular 
town rather than in any other? Look out for ce marchand? 
But what marchand? Atthat point his second and most terrible 
question cropped up. In reality there was nothing he dreaded 
more than ce marchand, whom he had rushed off to seek so 
recklessly, though, of course, he was terribly afraid of finding 
him. No, better simply the high road, better simply to set off 
for it, and walk along it and to think of nothing so long as he 
could put off thinking. The high road is something very very 
long, of which one cannot see the end—like human life, like 
human dreams. There is an idea in the open road, but what 
sort of idea is there in travelling with posting tickets ? Posting 
tickets mean an end to ideas. Vive la grande route and then as 
God wills. : | 
After the sudden and unexpected interview with Liza which 
I have described, he rushed on, more lost in forgetfulness than 
ever. The high road passed half a mile from Skvoreshniki and, 
strange to say, he was not at first aware that he was on it. 
Logical reasoning or even distinct consciousness was unbearable 
to him at this moment. A fine rain kept drizzling, ceasing, and 
drizzling again; but he did not even notice the rain. He did 
not even notice either how he threw his bag over his shoulder, 
nor how much more comfortably he walked with it so. He must 
have walked like that for nearly a mile or so when he suddenly © 
stood still and looked round. The old road, black, marked with 
wheel-ruts and planted with willows on each side, ran before 
him like an endless thread ; on the right hand were bare plains 
from which the harvest had long ago been carried ; on the left 
_ there were bushes and in the distance beyond them a copse. 


STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 595 


And far, far away a scarcely perceptible line of the railway, 
running aslant, and on it the smoke of a train, but no sound was 
heard. Stepan Trofimovitch felt a little timid, but only for a 
moment. He heaved a vague sigh, put down his bag beside a 
willow, and sat down to rest. As he moved to sit down he was 
conscious of being chilly and wrapped himself in his rug; 
noticing at the same time that it was raining, he put up his 
umbrella. He sat like that for some time, moving his lips from 
time to time and firmly grasping the umbrella handle. Images 
of all sorts passed in feverish procession before him, rapidly 
succeeding one another in his mind. 

Lise, Lise,’ he thought, ‘and with her ce Maurice. . 
Strange people. ... But what was the strange fire, and what 
were they talking about, and who were murdered? I fancy 
Nastasya has not found out yet and is still waiting for me with 
my coffee ... cards? Did I really lose men at cards? H’m! 
Among us in Russia in the times of serfdom, so called. .. . My 
God, yes—Fedka !” 

He started all over with terror and looked about him. 
*“ What if that Fedka is in hiding somewhere behind the bushes ? 
They say he has a regular band of robbers here on the high road. 
Oh, mercy, I... Tl tell him the whole truth then, that 1 
was to blame . . . and that [’ve been miserable about him for 
ten years. More miserable than he was as a soldier, and... 
I'll give him my purse. H’m! J’at en tout quarante roubles ; 
al prendra les roubles et il me tuera tout de méme.” 

In his panic he for some reason shut up the umbrella and laid 
it down beside him. A cart came into sight on the high road 
in the distance coming from the town. 

“Grace a Dieu, that’s a cart and it’s coming at a walking 
pace; that can’t be dangerous. The wretched little horses 
here ... I always said that breed ... It was Pyotr Ilyitch 
though, he talked at the club about horse-breeding and I 
trumped him, et puis .. . but what’sthat behind? . . . I believe 
there’s a woman in the cart. A peasant and a woman, cela 
commence a étre rassurant. The woman behind and the man in 
front—c’est trés rassurant. 'There’s a cow behind the cart tied 
by the horns, c’est rassurant aw plus haut degré.” 

The cart reached him; it was a fairly solid peasant cart. 
The woman was sitting on a tightly stuffed sack and the man 
on the front of the cart with his legs hanging over towards 
Stepan Trofimovitch. Ared cow was, in fact, shambling behind. 


596 THE POSSESSED 


tied by the horns to the cart. The man and the woman gazed 
open-eyed at Stepan Trofimovitch, and Stepan Trofimovitch 
gazed back at them with equal wonder, but after he had let them 
pass twenty paces, he got up hurriedly all of a sudden and 
walked after them. In the proximity of the cart it was natural 
that he should feel safer, but when he had overtaken it he became 
oblivious of everything again and sank back into his disconnected 
thoughts and fancies. He stepped along with no suspicion, 
of course, that for the two peasants he was at that instant the 
most mysterious and interesting object that one could meet on 
the high road. 

‘What sort may you be, pray, if it’s not uncivil to ask ?” 
the woman could not resist asking at last when Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch glanced absent-mindedly at her. She was a woman of 
about seven and twenty, sturdily built, with black eyebrows, 
rosy cheeks, and a friendly smile on her red lips, between which 
gleamed white even teeth. 

“You... you are addressing me?” muttered Stepan 
Trofimoviteh ‘with mournful wonder. 

‘“A merchant, for sure,” the peasant observed confidently. 
He was a well-grown man of forty with a broad and intelligent 
face, framed in a reddish beard. 

‘No, I am not exactly a merchant, I. ..I1... mot cest 
autre chose.” Stepan Trofimovitch parried the question some- 
how, and to be on the safe side he dropped back a little from the 
cart, so that he was walking on a level with the cow. 

‘Must be a gentleman,” the man decided, hearing words not 
Russian, and he gave a tug at the horse. 

‘“That’s what set us wondering. You are out for a walk 
seemingly ?”’ the woman asked inquisitively again. 

Wow.) .oyoulask me ? ”’ 

vy Foreigners come from other parts sometimes by the train ; 
your boots don’t seem to be from hereabouts. . . .” 

“They are army boots,” the man put in complacently and 
significantly. 

*“ No, I am not precisely in the army, 1. . 

“ What an inquisitive woman!” Stepan Trofimovitch mused 
with vexation. ‘“‘ And how they stare at me... mats enfin. 
In fact, it’s strange that I feel, as it were, conscience-stricken 
before them, and yet I’ve done them no harm.” 

The woman was whispering to the man. 

** If it’s no offence, we’d give you a lift if so be it’s agreeable.” 


a 


STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 597 


Stepan Trofimovitch suddenly roused himself. 

*“ Yes, yes, my friends, I accept it with pleasure, for I’m very 
tired ; but how am I to get in ?”’ 

‘““How wonderful it is,” he thought to himself, ‘‘ that I’ve 
been walking so long beside that cow and it never entered my 
head to ask them for a lift. This ‘ real life’ has something very 
original about it.”’ 

But the peasant had not, however, pulled up the horse. 

“But where are you bound for?” he asked with some 
mistrustfulness. 

Stepan Trofimovitch did not understand him at once. 

“To Hatovo, I suppose ? ” 

**Hatov ? No, not to Hatov’s exactly? ... And I don’t 
know him though I’ve heard of him.” 

_“ The village of Hatovo, the village, seven miles from here.” 
“A village ? C'est charmant, to be sure I’ve heard of it. . . .” 
Stepan Trofimovitch was still walking, they had not yet 

taken him into the cart. A guess that was a stroke of genius 
flashed through his mind. 

* You think perhaps that [am ... DPve got a passport and 
I am a professor, that is, if you like, a teacher . . . but a head 
teacher. I am a head teacher. Out, c'est comme ca quwon 
peut traduire. JI should be very glad of a lift and I u buy 

ou’... Pil buy youa quart of vodka for it.” 

STP il be half a rouble, sir; it’s a bad road.” 

* Or it wouldn’t be fair to ourselves,” put in the woman. 

** Half a rouble ? Very good then, half a rouble. C'est encore 
mieux ; jai en tout quarante roubles mais...” 

The peasant stopped the horse and by their united efforts 
Stepan Trofimovitch was dragged into the cart, and seated on 
the sack by the woman. He was still pursued by the same 
whirl of ideas. Sometimes he was aware himself that he was 
terribly absent-minded, and that he was not thinking of what he 
ought to be thinking of and wondered at it. This consciousness 
of abnormal weakness of mind became at moments very painful 
and even humiliating to him. 

“How ... how is this you’ve got a cow behind?” he 
suddenly asked the woman. 

“What do you mean, sir, as though you’d never seen one,’ 
laughed the woman. 

“We bought it in the town,” the peasant put he eee? Ohi 
cattle died last spring . . . the plague. All the beasts have died 


598 THE POSSESSED 


round us, all of them. There aren’t half of them left, it’s heart- 
breaking.”’ 

And again he lashed the horse, which had got stuck in a rut. 

‘Yes, that does happen among you in Russia... in 
general we Russians ... Well, yes, it happens,” Stepan 
Trofimovitch broke off. 3 

‘“‘Tf you are a teacher, what are you going to Hatovo for? 
Maybe you are going on farther.” 

“JT ...Tm not going farther precisely... . C’est-d-dire, 
I’m going to a merchant’s.” . 

‘To Spasov, I suppose ? ” 

‘Yes, yes, to Spasov. But that’s no matter.” 

‘“‘Tf you are geing to Spasov and on foot, it will take you a 
week in your boots,”’ laughed the woman. 

‘“‘T dare say, I dare say, no matter, mes amis, no matter.” 
Stepan Trofimovitch cut her short impatiently. 

‘“‘ Awfully inquisitive people; but the woman speaks better 
than he does, and I notice that since February 19,* their 
language has altered a little, and . . . and what business is it 
of mine whether I’m going to Spasov or not? Besides, Ill 
pay them, so why do they pester me.’ 

‘‘ If you are going to Spasov, you must take the steamer,” the 
peasant persisted. 

‘“‘That’s true indeed,” the woman put in with animation, 
*“‘for if you drive along the bank it’s twenty-five miles out of 
the way.” 

“ Thirty-five.” 

‘** You'll just catch the steamer at Ustyevo at two o’clock to- 
morrow,” the woman decided finally. But Stepan Trofimovitch 
was obstinately silent. His questioners, too, sank into silence. 
The peasant tugged at his horse at rare intervals; the peasant 
woman exchanged brief remarks with him. Stepan Trofimovitch 
fell into a doze. He was tremendously surprised when the 
woman, laughing, gave him a poke and he found himself in a 
rather large village at the door of a cottage with three windows. 

“You've had a nap, sir?” 

‘“What is it? Where am 1? Ah, yes! Well... never 
mind,’’ sighed Stepan Trofimovitch, and he got out of the cart. 

He looked about him mournfully; the village scene seemed 
strange to him and somehow terribly remote. 


* February 19, 1861, the day of the Emancipation of the Serfs, is meant.— 
Translator’s note. 


STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 599 


** And the half-rouble, I was forgetting it!’’ he said to the 
peasant, turning to him with an excessively hurried gesture; 
he was evidently by now afraid to part from them. 

“ We'll settle indoors, walk in,”’ the peasant invited him. 

“‘ It’s comfortable inside,” the woman said reassuringly. 

Stepan Trofimovitch mounted the shaky steps. ‘‘ How can 
it be?’ he murmured in profound and apprehensive perplexity. 
He went into the cottage, however. “‘ Hille Va voulu,” he felt a 
stab at his heart and again he became oblivious of everything, 
even of the fact that he had gone into the cottage. 

It was a light and fairly clean peasant’s cottage, with three 
windows and two rooms; not exactly an inn, but a cottage at 
which people who knew the place were accustomed to stop on 
their way through the village. Stepan Trofimovitch, quite 
unembarrassed, went to the foremost corner ;.forgot to greet 
anyone, sat down and sank into thought. Meanwhile a sensation 
of warmth, extremely agreeable after three hours of travelling 
in the damp, was suddenly diffused throughout his person. Even 
the slight shivers that spasmodically ran down his spine—such as 
always occur in particularly nervous people when they are 
feverish and have suddenly come into a warm room from the 
~cold—became all at once strangely agreeable. He raised his head 
and the delicious fragrance of the hot pancakes with which the 
woman of the house was busy at the stove tickled his nostrils. 
With a childlike smile he leaned towards the woman and suddenly 
said : 

‘“What’s that? Are they pancakes? Matis .. . c'est char- 
mant.”” 

‘‘Would you like some, sir?’ the woman politely offered 
him at once. 

‘‘T should like some, I certainly should, and... may I 
ask you for some tea too,” said Stepan Trofimovitch, reviving. 

‘Get the samovar ? With the greatest pleasure.” 

On a large plate with a big blue pattern on it were served 
the pancakes—regular peasant pancakes, thin, made half of 
wheat, covered with fresh hot butter, most delicious pancakes. 
Stepan Trofimovitch tasted them with relish. 

“‘ How rich they are and how good! And if one could only 
have un doigt d’eau de vie.” : 

“It’s a drop of vodka you would like, sir, isn’t it ?” 

“ Just so, just so, a little, wn tout petit rien.” 

“‘ Five farthings’ worth, I suppose ?”’ 


600 - THE POSSESSED 


‘* Five, yes, five, five, five, un tout petit rien,” Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch assented with a blissful smile. 3 

Ask a peasant to do anything for you, and if he can, and will, 
he will serve you with care and friendliness; but ask him 
to fetch you vodka—and his habitual serenity and friendliness 
will pass at once into a sort of joyful haste and alacrity; he 
will be as keen in your interest as though you were one of his 
family. The peasant who fetches vodka—even though you 
are going to drink it and not he and he knows that beforehand— 
seems, as it were, to be enjoying part of your future gratification. 
Within three minutes (the tavern was only two paces away), 
a bottle and a large greenish wineglass were set on the table 
before Stepan Trofimovitch. 

‘Ts that all forme!’ He was extremely surprised. ‘I’ve 
always had vodka but I never knew you could get so much for 
five farthings.”’ 

He filled the wineglass, got up and with a certain solemnity 
crossed the room to the other corner where his fellow-traveller, 
the black-browed peasant woman, who had shared the sack with 
him and bothered him with her questions, had ensconced herself. 
The woman was taken aback, and began to decline, but after | 
having said all that was prescribed by politeness, she stood up 
and drank it decorously in three sips, as women do, and, with an 
expression of intense suffering on her face, gave back the wine- 
glass and bowed to Stepan Trofimovitch. He returned the 
bow with dignity and returned to the table with an expression 
of positive pride on his countenance, 

All this was done on the inspiration of the moment: a second be- 
fore he had no idea that he would go and treat the peasant woman. 

‘IT know how to get on with peasants to perfection, to per- 
fection, and I’ve always told them so,” he thought complacently, 
pouring out the rest of the vodka; though there was less than a 
glass left, it warmed and revived him, and even went a little to 
his head. 

Je suis malade tout a fait, mais ce nest pas trop mauvais 
d'etre malade.” 

“Would you care to purchase?” a gentle feminine voice 
asked close by him. 

He raised his eyes and to his surprise saw a lady—wune dame, 
et elle en avatt Vair, somewhat over thirty, very modest in 
appearance, dressed not like a peasant, in a dark gown with a 
grey shawl on her shoulders. There was something very kindly 


STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 601 


in her face which attracted Stepan Trofimovitch immediately. 
She had only just come back to the cottage, where her things had 
been left on a bench close by the place where Stepan Trofimovitch 
had seated himself. Among them was a portfolio, at which he 
remembered he had looked with curiosity on going in, and a 
pack, not very large, of American leather. From this pack she 
took out two nicely bound books with a cross engraved on the 
cover, and offered them to Stepan Trofimovitch. 


“Ht... mais je crois que cest VHvangile .. . with the greatest 
pleasure. ... Ah, now I understand. ... Vous étes ce qu’on 
appelle a gospel-woman ; I’ve read more than once. .. . Halfa 
rouble ? ” 


*“ Thirty-five kopecks,”’ answered the gospel-woman. 
“‘ With the greatest pleasure. Jen’ai rien contrel’ Evangile, and 
Tve been wanting to re-read it for a long time. . . .” 

- The idea occurred to him at the moment that he had not read 
the gospel for thirty years at least, and at most had recalled 
some passages of it, seven years before, when reading Renan’s 
** Vie de Jésus.” As he had no small change he pulled out his 
four ten-rouble notes—all that he had. The woman of the house 
undertook to get change, and only then he noticed, looking 
round, that a good many people had come into the cottage, and 
that they had all been watching him for some time past, and 
seemed to be talking about him. They were talking too of the 
fire in the town, especially the owner of the cart who had only 
just returned from the town with the cow. They talked of 
arson, of the Shpigulin men. 

‘“‘ He said nothing to me about the fire when he brought me 
along, although he talked of everything,” struck Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch for some reason. 

‘Master, Stepan Trofimovitch, sir, is it you I see? Well, I 
never should have thought it! ... Don’t you know me?” 
exclaimed a middle-aged man who looked like an old-fashioned 
house-serf, wearing no beard and dressed in an overcoat with a 
wide turn-down collar. Stepan Trofimovitch was alarmed at 
hearing his own name. 

‘* Excuse me,” he muttered, “ I don’t quite remember you.” 

You don’t remember me. I am Anisim, Anisim Ivanov, 
I used to be in the service of the late Mr. Gaganov, and many’s 
the time I’ve seen you, sir, with Varvara Petrovna at the late 
Avdotya Sergyevna’s. I used to go to you with books from 
her, and twice I brought you Petersburg sweets from her. . . .” 


602 THE POSSESSED 


‘Why, yes, I remember you, Anisim,” said Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch, smiling. ‘‘ Do you live here ? ” 

‘I live near Spasov, close to the V- Monastery, in the 
service of Marfa Sergyevna, Avdotya Sergyevna’s sister. Perhaps 
your honour remembers her; she broke her leg falling out of her 
carriage on her way to a ball. Now her honour lives near the 
monastery, and I am in her service. And now as your honour 
sees, 1 am on my way to the town to see my kinsfolk.”’ 

** Quite so, quite so.” 

‘‘T felt so pleased when I saw you, you used to be so kind to 
me,’’ Anisim smiled delightedly. ‘‘ But where are you travelling 
to, sir, all by yourself as it seems. . . . You’ve never been a 
journey alone, I fancy ? ”’ 

Stepan Trofimovitch looked at him in alarm. 

‘‘ You are going, maybe, to our parts, to Spasov ? ” 

‘Yes, I am going to Spasov. JI me semble que tout le monde 
va a Spassof.”’ 

“You don’t say it’s to Fyodor Matveyevitch’s ? They will 
be pleased to see you. He had such a respect for you in old 
days; he often speaks of you now.” | 

** Yes, yes, to Fyodor Matveyevitch’s.” 

“To be sure, to be sure. The peasants here are wondering; 
they make out they met you, sir, walking on the high road. 
They are a foolish lot.” 

“T...I1... Yes, you know, Anisim, I made a wager, you 
know, like an Englishman, that I would go on foot andI .. .” 

The perspiration came out on his forehead. 

“To be sure, to be sure.” Anisim listened with merciless 
curiosity. But Stepan Trofimovitch could bear it no longer. 
He was so disconcerted that he was on the point of getting up 
and going out of the cottage. But the samovar was brought in, 
and at the same moment the gospel-woman, who had been out 
of the room, returned. With the air of a man clutching at a 
straw he turned to her and offered her tea. Anisim submitted 
and walked away. | 

The peasants certainly had begun to feel perplexed : ‘“‘ What 
sort of person is he ? He was found walking on the high road, 
he says he is a teacher, he is dressed like a foreigner, and has no 
more sense than a little child; he answers queerly as though he 
had run away from some one, and.-he’s got money!” An idea 
was beginning to gain ground that information must be given 
to the authorities, ‘‘ especially as things weren’t quite right in 





STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 603 


the town.” But Anisim set all that right in a minute. Going 
into the passage he explained to every one who cared to listen 
that Stepan Trofimovitch was not exactly a teacher but “a 
very learned man and busy with very learned studies, and was 
a landowner of the district himself, and had been living for 
twenty-two years with her excellency, the general’s widow, 
the stout Madame Stavrogin, and was by way of being the most 
important person in her house, and was held in the greatest 
respect by every one in the town. He used to lose by fifties and 
hundreds in an evening at the club of the nobility, and in rank 
he was a councillor, which was equal to a lieutenant-colonel in the 
army, which was next door to being a colonel. As for his having 
money, he had so much from the stout Madame Stavrogin that 
there was no reckoning it ’’—and so on and so on. 

‘** Mats c’est une dame et trés comme il faut,” thought Stepan 
Trofimovitch, as he recovered from Anisim’s attack, gazing with 
agreeable curiosity at his neighbour, the gospel pedlar, who was, 
however, drinking the tea from a saucer and nibbling at a piece 
of sugar. ‘‘ Ce petit morceau de sucre, ce nest rien. . . . There 
is something noble and independent about her, and at the same 
time—gentle. Lecomme tl faut tout pur, but rather in a different 
style.” 

He soon learned from her that her name was Sofya Matveyevna 
Ulitin and she lived at K: , that she had a sister there, a widow; 
that she was a widow too, and that her husband, who was a 
sub-lieutenant risen from the ranks, had been killed at Sevastopol. 

** But you are still so young, vous n’avez pas trente ans.” 

*“* Thirty-four,’ said Sofya Matveyevna, smiling. 

“What, you understand French ? ” 

* A little. I lived for four years after that in a gentleman’s 
family, and there I picked it up from the children.” 

She told him that being left a widow at eighteen she was for 
some time in Sevastopol as a nurse, and had afterwards lived in 
various places, and now she travelled about selling the gospel. 

‘* Mais, mon Dieu, wasn’t it you who had a strange adventure 
in our town, a very strange adventure ? ” 

She flushed ; it turned out that it had been she. 

** Ces vauriens, ces malheureux,’’ he began in a voice quivering 
with indignation; miserable and hateful recollections stirred 
painfully in his heart. For a minute he seemed to sink into 
oblivion. 

‘‘ Pah, but she’s gone away again,” he thought, with a start, 





604 THE POSSESSED 


noticing that she was not by his side. ‘“‘She keeps going out 
and is busy about something; I notice that she seems upset 
too. . . . Bah, je deviens égoiste!” 

He raised his eyes and saw Anisim again, but this time in the 
most menacing surroundings. The whole cottage was full of 
peasants, and it was evidently Anisim who had brought them 
all in. Among them were the master of the house, and the 
peasant with the cow, two other peasants (they turned out to 
be cab-drivers), another little man, half drunk, dressed like a 
peasant but clean-shaven, who seemed like a townsman ruined 
by drink and talked more than any of them. And they were all 
discussing him, Stepan Trofimovitch. The peasant with the 
cow insisted on his point that to go round by the lake would 
be thirty-five miles out of the way, and that he certainly must go 
by steamer. The half-drunken man and the man of the house 
warmly retorted : 

‘ Seeing that, though of course it will be nearer for his honour 
on the steamer over the lake; that’s true enough, but maybe 
according to. present arrangements the steamer doesn’t go there, 
brother. » 

‘“* It does go, it does, it will go for another acne cried Anisim, 
more excited than any of them: 

‘ That’s true enough, but it doesn’t arrive punctually, seeing 
it’s late in the season, and sometimes it’ll stay three days together 
at Ustyevo.”’ 

** It'll be there to-morrow at two o’clock punctually. You’ll bs 
at Spasov punctually by the evening,” cried Anisim, eager to do 
his best for Stepan Trofimovitch. 

“ Mais qwest-ce qwil a, cet homme,” thought Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch, trembling and waiting in terror for what was in store for 
him. 

The cab-drivers, too, came forward and began bargaining with 
him ; they asked three roubles to Ustyevo. The others shouted 
that that was not too much, that that was the fare, and that 
they had been driving from here to Ustyevo all the summer for 
that fare. 

“But ... it’s nice here too. ... And I don’t want...” 
Stepan Trofimovitch mumbled in protest. 

“ Nice it is, sir, you are right there, it’s wonderfully nice at 
Spasov now and Fyodor Matveyevitch will be so pleased to see 
you.’ 

“ Mon Dieu, mes amis, all this is such a surprise to me.” 


STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 605 


At last Sofya Matveyevna came back. Butshe sat down on the 
bench looking dejected and mournful. 

“I can’t get to Spasov!” she said to the woman of the 
cottage. 

‘“Why, you are bound to Spasov, too, then?” cried Stepan 
Trofimovitch, starting. 

it appeared that a lady had the day before told her to wait 
at Hatovo and had promised to take her to Spasov, and now this 
- lady had not turned up after all. 

‘““ What am I to do now ?”’ repeated Sofya Matveyevna. 

** Mais, ma chére et nouvelle amie, I can take you just as well 
as the lady to that village, whatever it is, to which I’ve hired 
horses, and to-morrow—well, to-morrow, we'll go on together to 
Spasov.”’ 

‘Why, are you going to Spasov too ?”’ 

““ Mais que faire, et je suis enchanié! I shall take you with 
the greatest pleasure; you see they want to take me, I’ve 
engaged them already. Which of you did I engage ?”’ Stepan 
Trofimovitch suddenly felt an intense desire to go to Spasov. 

Within a quarter of an hour they were getting into a covered 
trap, he very lively and quite satisfied, she with her pack beside 
him, with a grateful smile on her face. Anisim helped them in. 

**A good journey to you, sir,” said he, bustling officiously 
round the trap, ‘‘ it has been a treat to see you.” 

** Good-bye, good-bye, my friend, good-bye.”’ 

“You'll see Fyodor Matveyevitch, sir...” 

“Yes, my friend, yes... Fyodor Petrovitch ... only 
good-bye.” 


Il 


“You see, my friend... you'll allow me to call myself your 
friend, n’est-ce pas?” Stepan Trofimovitch began hurriedly as 
soon as the trap started. ‘You see I... J’atme le peuple, 
c’est indispensable, mais il me semble que je ne Vavats jamais vu de 
prés. Stasie ... cela va sans dire qwelle est ausst du peuple, 
mais le vrai peuple, that is, the real ones, who are on the high road, 
it seems to me they care for nothing, but where exactly I am 
going . . . But let bygones be bygones. I fancy I am talking at 
random, but I believe it’s from being flustered.” 


606 THE POSSESSED 


‘“ You don’t seem quite well.” Sofya Matveyevna watched 
him keenly though respectfully. | | 

‘“No, no, I must only wrap myself up, besides there’s a fresh 
wind, very fresh in fact, but... let us forget that. That’s 
not what I really meant to say. Chére et incomparable amie, I 
feel that I am almost happy, and it’s your doing. Happiness is 
not good for me for it makes me rush to forgive all my enemies at 
ONcen wien 

‘“‘ Why, that’s a very good thing, sir.” 

“Not always, chére innocente. L’Hvangile .. . voyez-vous, 
désormats nous précherons ensemble and I will gladly sell your 
beautiful little books. Yes, I feel that that perhaps is an idea, 
quelque chose de trés nouveau dans ce genre. The peasants are 
religious, c’est admis, but they don’t yet know the gospel. I will 
expound it to them. ... By verbal explanation one might 
correct the mistakes in that remarkable book, which I am of 
course prepared to treat with the utmost respect. I will be of 
service even on the high road. I’ve always been of use, I always 
told them so et a cette chére ingrate. . . . Oh, we will forgive, 
we will forgive, first of all we will forgive all and always... . 
We will hope that we too shall be forgiven. Yes, for all, every | 
one of us, have wronged one another, all are guilty ! ” 

‘“ That’s a very good saying, I think, sir.” 

“Yes, yes... . I feel that Iam speaking well. I shall speak 
to them very well, but what was the chief thing I meant to say ? 
I keep losing the thread and forgetting. . . . Will you allow me 
to remain with you? I feel that the look in your eyes and .. . 
I am surprised in fact at your manners. You are simple-hearted, 
you call me ‘sir,’ and turn your cup upside down on your saucer 
... and that horrid lump of sugar; but there’s something charming 
about you, and I see from your features . . . Oh, don’t blush and 
don’t be afraid of me asa man. Chére et incomparable, pour moi 
une femme c'est tout. I can’t live without a woman, but only at 
her side, only at her side. . . . Iam awfully muddled, awfully. I 
can’t remember what I meant to say. Oh, blessed is he to whom 
God always sends a woman and .. . and I fancy, indeed, that I 
am in a sort of ecstasy. There’s a lofty idea in the open road 
too! That’s what I meant to say, that’s it—about the idea. 
Now I’ve remembered it, but I kept losing it before. And why 
have they taken us farther. It was nice there too, but here— 
cela devient trop froid. A propos, j'ai en tout quarante roubles et 
voila cet argent, take it, take it, I can’t take care of it, I shall lose 


STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 607 


it or it will be taken away from me. . . . I seem to be sleepy, 
TPve a giddiness in my head. Yes, I am giddy, I am giddy, I am 
giddy. Oh, how kind you are, what’s that you are wrapping me 
up in?” 

‘You are certainly in a regular fever and I’ve covered you with 
my rug; only about the money, I’d rather.” 

“Oh, for God’s sake, n’en parlons plus parce que cela me fait 
mal. Oh, how kind you are!” 

He ceased speaking, and with strange suddenness dropped into 
a feverish shivery sleep. The road by which they drove the 
twelve miles was not a smooth one, and their carriage jolted 
cruelly. Stepan Trofimovitch woke up frequently, quickly raised 
his head from the little pillow which Sofya Matveyevna had 
slipped under it, clutched her by the hand and asked “‘ Are you 
here ? ” as though he were afraid she had left him. He told her, 
too, that he had dreamed of gaping jaws full of teeth, and that he 
had very much disliked it. Sofya Matveyevna was in great 
anxiety about him. 

They were driven straight up to a large cottage with a 
frontage of four windows and other rooms in the yard. Stepan 
Trofimovitch waked up, hurriedly went in and walked straight 
into the second room, which was the largest and best in the house. 
An expression of fussiness came into his sleepy face. He spoke 
at once to the landlady, a tall, thick-set woman of forty with 
very dark hair and a slight moustache, and explained that he 
required the whole room for himself, and that the door was to be 
shut and no one else was to be admitted, “‘ parce que nous avons a 
parler. Oui, 7’at beaucoup a vous dire, chére amie. TIl pay you, 
Pil pay you,” he said with a wave of dismissal to the landlady. 

Though he was in a hurry, he seemed to articulate with difficulty. 
The landlady listened grimly, and was silent in token of consent, 
but there was a feeling of something menacing about her silence. 
He did not notice this, and hurriedly (he was in a terrible hurry) 
insisted on her going away and bringing them their dinner as 
quickly as possible, without a moment’s delay. 

At that point the moustached woman could contain herself no 
longer. 

This is not an inn, sir ; we don’t provide dinners for travellers. 
We can boil you some crayfish or set the samovar, but we’ve 
nothing more. There won’t be fresh fish till to-morrow.” | 

But Stepan Trofimovitch waved his hands, repeating with 
wrathful impatience: ‘“‘IT’ll pay, only make haste, make haste.” 


608 THE POSSESSED 


They settled on fish, soup, and roast fowl; the landlady declared 
that fowl was not to be procured in the whole village; she 
agreed, however, to go in search of one, but with the air of doing 
him an immense favour. 

As soon as she had gone Stepan Trofimovitch instantly sat 
down on the sofa and made Sofya Matveyevna sit down beside 
him. There were several arm-chairs as well as a sofa in the room, 
but they were of a most uninviting appearance. The room was 
rather a large one, with a corner, in which there was a bed, 
partitioned off. It was covered with old and tattered yellow 
paper, and had horrible lithographs of mythological subjects on 
the walls; in the corner facing the door there was a long row 
of painted ikons and several sets of brass ones. The whole room 
with its strangely ill-assorted furniture was an unattractive 
mixture of the town element and of peasant traditions. But he 
did not even glance at it all, nor look out of the window at the 
vast lake, the edge of which was only seventy feet from the 
cottage. 

‘* At last we are by ourselves and we will admit no one! I 
want to tell you everything, everything from the very beginning.” 

Sofya Matveyevna checked him with great uneasiness. 

‘* Are you aware, Stepan Trofimovitch? .. .” 

“ Comment, vous savez déja mon nom ?”? He smiled with delight. 

“T heard it this morning from Anisim Ivanovitch when you 
were talking to him. But I venture to tell you for my part .. .” 

And she whispered hurriedly to him, looking nervously at the 
closed door for fear anyone should overhear—that here in 
this village, it was dreadful. That though all the peasants 
were fishermen, they made their living chiefly by charging 
travellers every summer whatever they thought fit. The village 
was not on the high road but an out-of-the-way one, and people 
only called there because the steamers stopped there, and that 
when the steamer did not call—and if the weather was in the 
least unfavourable, it would not—then numbers of travellers 
would be waiting there for several days, and all the cottages in 
the village would be occupied, and that was just the villagers’ 
opportunity, for they charged three times its value for everything ; 
and their landlord here was proud and stuck up because he was, 
for these parts, very rich ; he had a net which had cost a thousand 
roubles. 

Stepan Trofimovitch looked almost reproachfully at Sofya 
Matveyevna’s extremely excited face, and several times he made 











STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 609 


a motion to stop her. But she persisted and said all she had to 
say: she said she had been there before already in the summer 
“with a very genteel lady from the town,” and stayed there 
too for two whole days till the steamer came, and what they 
had to put up with did not bear thinking of. ‘“ Here, Stepan 
Trofimovitch, you’ve been pleased to ask for this room for your- 
self alone. . . . I only speak to warn you. ... In the other 
room there are travellers already. An elderly man and a young 
-man and a lady with children, and by to-morrow before two 
o'clock the whole house will be filled up, for since the steamer 
hasn’t been here for two days it will be sure to come to-morrow. 
So for a room apart and for ordering dinner, and for putting out 
the other travellers, they'll charge you a price unheard of even 
in the capital... .” 

But he was in distress, in real distress. ‘‘ Assez, mon enfant, 
I beseech you, nous avons notre argent—et aprés, le bon Dieu. 
And I am surprised that, with the loftiness of your ideas, you 
. . . Assez, assez, vous me tourmentez,”’ he articulated hysterically, 
“‘ we have all our future before us, and you . . . you fill me with 
alarm for the future.”’ 

He proceeded at once to unfold his whole story with such 
haste that at first it was difficult to understand him. It went 
on for a long time. The soup was served, the fowl was brought 
in, followed at last by the samovar, and still he talked on. He 
told it somewhat strangely and hysterically, and indeed he was 
ill. It was a sudden, extreme effort of his intellectual faculties, 
which was bound in his overstrained condition, of course—Sofya 
Matveyevna foresaw it with distress all the time he was talking— 
to result immediately afterwards in extreme exhaustion. He 
began his story almost with his childhood, when, ‘“ with fresh 
heart, he ran about the meadows; it was an hour before he 
reached his two marriages and his life in Berlin. I dare not 
laugh, however. It really was for him a matter of the utmost im- 
portance, and to adopt the modern jargon, almost a question of 
struggling for existence.” He saw before him the woman whom 
he had already elected to share his new life, and was in haste to 
consecrate her, so to speak. His genius must not be hidden 
from her. ... Perhaps he had formed a very exaggerated | 
estimate of Sofya Matveyevna, but he had already chosen her. 
He could not exist without a woman. He saw clearly from her 
face that she hardly understood him, and could not grasp even 
the most essential part. ‘‘ Ce nest rien, nous attendrons, and 

2Q 


610 THE POSSESSED 


meanwhile she can feel it intuitively. . .. My friend, I need 
nothing but your heart !’’ he exclaimed, interrupting his narra- 
tive, “and that sweet enchanting look with which you are 
gazing at me now. Oh, don’t blush! Ive told you already...” 

_. The poor woman who had fallen into his hands found much 
that was obscure, especially when his autobiography almost 
passed into a complete dissertation on the fact that no one had 
been ever able to understand Stepan Trofimovitch, and that 
“men of genius are wasted in Russia.’ It was all “so very in- 
tellectual,’’ she reported afterwards dejectedly. She listened 
in evident misery, rather round-eyed. When Stepan Trofimo- 
vitch fell into a humorous vein and threw off witty sarcasms at 
the expense of our advanced and governing classes, she 
twice made grievous efforts to laugh in response to his laughter, 
but the result was worse than tears, so that Stepan Trofimovitch 
was at last embarrassed by it himself and attacked “ the nihilists 
and modern people’”’ with all the greater wrath and zest. At 
this point he simply alarmed her, and it was not until he began 
upon the romance of his life that she felt some slight relief, 
though that too was deceptive. A woman is always a woman 
even if she is a nun. She smiled, shook her head and then 
blushed crimson and dropped her eyes, which roused Stepan 
Trofimovitch to absolute ecstasy and inspiration so much that 
he began fibbing freely. Varvara Petrovna appeared in his story 
as an enchanting brunette ( who had been the rage of Petersburg 
and many European capitals) and her husband “had been 
struck down on the field of Sevastopol” simply because he had 
felt unworthy of her love, and had yielded her to his rival, that is, 
Stepan Trofimovitch. .. . “Don’t be shocked, my gentle one, 
my Christian,’ he exclaimed to Sofya Matveyevna, almost 
believing himself in all that he was telling, “‘ it was something so 
lofty, so subtle, that we never spoke of it to one another all our 
lives.” As the story went on, the cause of this position of 
affairs appeared to be a blonde lady (if not Darya Pavlovna I 
don’t know of whom Stepan Trofimovitch could have been 
thinking), this blonde owed everything to the brunette, and had 
grown up in her house, being a distant relation. The brunette 
observing at last the love of the blonde girl to Stepan Trofimovitch, 
kept her feelings locked up in her heart, The blonde girl, noticing 
on her part the love of the brunette to Stepan Trofimovitch, also 
locked her feelings in her own heart. And all three, pining with 
mutual magnanimity, kept silent in this way for twenty years, | 


STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 611 


locking their feelings in their hearts.. ‘‘Oh, what a passion that 
was, what a passion that was!” he exclaimed with a stifled sob 
of genuine ecstasy. “I saw the full blooming of her beauty ”’ (of 
the brunette’s, that is), ‘“‘I saw daily with an ache in my heart 
how she passed by me as though ashamed she was so fair”? (once 
he said “‘ ashamed she was so fat’’). At last he had run away, 
casting off all this feverish dream of twenty years—vingt ans— 
and now here he was on the high road. .. . 

Then in a sort of delirium be began explaining to Sofya 
Matveyevna the significance of their meeting that day, “so 
ehance an encounter and so fateful for all eternity.’’ Sofya 
Matveyevna got up from the sofa in terrible confusion at. last. 
He had positively made an attempt to drop on his knees before 
her, which made her cry. It was beginning to es dark. They 
had been for some hours shut up in the room. . . 

‘“* No, you'd better let me go into the other room,”’ she faltered) 

‘or else there’s no knowing what people may think. With 

She tore herself away at last; he let her go, promising her to 
go to bed at once. As they parted he complained that he had a 
bad headache. Sofya Matveyevna had on entering the cottage 
left her bag and things in the first room, meaning to spend the 
night with the people of the house ; but she got no rest. 

In the night Stepan Trofimovitch was attacked by the malady 
with which I and all his friends were so familiar—the summer 
cholera, which was always the outcome of any nervous strain or 
moral shock with him. Poor Sofya Matveyevna did not sleep 
all night. As in waiting on the invalid she was obliged pretty 
often to go in and out of the cottage through the landlady’s room, 
the latter, as well as the travellers who were sleeping there, 
grumbled and even began swearing when towards morning she 
set about preparing the samovar. Stepan Trofimovitch was 
half unconscious all through the attack ; at times he had a vision 
of the samovar being set, of some one giving him something to 
drink (raspberry tea), and putting something warm to his stomach 
and his chest. But he felt almost every instant that she was 
here, beside him ; that it was she going out and coming in, lifting 
him off the bed and settling him in it again. Towards three 
_ o'clock in the morning he began to be easier; he sat up, put his 
legs out of bed and thinking of nothing he fell on the floor at 
her feet. This was a very different matter from the kneeling 
of the evening; he simply bowed down at her feet and kissed 
the hem of her dress. 


612 THE POSSESSED 


“Don’t, sir, I am not worth it,’ she faltered, trying to get 
him back on to the bed. 

‘“My saviour,” he cried, clasping his hands reverently before 
her. ‘“‘ Vous étes noble comme une marquise/ I—I am a 
wretch. Oh, I’ve been dishonest all my life... .” 

‘“* Calm yourself ! ”? Sofya Matveyevna implored him. 

“It was all lies that I told you this evening—to glorify myself, 
to make it splendid, from pure wantonness—all, all, every word, 
oh, 1am a wretch, I am a wretch !”’ 

The first attack was succeeded in this way by a second—an 
attack of hysterical remorse. I have mentioned these attacks 
already when I described his letters to Varvara Petrovna. He 
suddenly recalled Lise and their meeting the previous morning. 
“‘ It was so awful, and there must have been some disaster and 
I didn’t ask, didn’t find out! I thought only of myself. Oh, 
what’s the matter with her? Do you know what’s the matter 
with her ?”’ he besought Sofya Matveyevna. 

Then he swore that ‘“‘ he would never change,” that he would 
go back to her (that is, Varvara Petrovna). ‘‘ We” (that is, he 
and Sofya Matveyevna) ‘ will go to her steps every day when 
she is getting into her carriage for her morning drive, and we . 
will watch her in secret. . . . Oh, I wish her to smite me on the 
other cheek ; it’s a joy to wish it! I shall turn her my other 
cheek comme dans votre livre! Only now for the first time I 
understand what is meant by .. . turning the other cheek. 
I never understood before ! ”’ 

The two days that followed were among the most terrible in 
Sofya Matveyevna’s life; she remembers them with a shudder 
to this day. Stepan Trofimovitch became so seriously ill that 
he could not go on board the steamer, which on this occasion 
arrived punctually at two o’clock in the afternoon. She could 
not bring herself to leave him alone, so she did not leave for 
Spasov either. From her account he was positively delighted 
at the steamer’s going without him. 

** Well, that’s a good thing, that’s capital!’ he muttered 
in his bed. “I’ve been afraid all the time that we should go. 
Here it’s so nice, better than anywhere. . . . You won’t leave 
me? Oh, you have not left me!” 

It was by no means so nice “‘here’”’? however. He did not 
care to hear of her difficulties ; his head was full of fancies and 
nothing else. He looked upon his illness as something transitory, 
a trifling ailment, and did not think about it at all; he thought 


STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 613 


of nothing but how they would go and sell ‘‘ these books.”’ He 
asked her to read him the gospel. 

“T haven't read it for a long time ...in the original. 
Some one may ask me about it and I shall make amistake; I 
ought to prepare myself after all.” 

She sat down beside him and opened the book. 

“You read beautifully,” he interrupted her after the first 
line. “Isee, I see I was not mistaken,” he added obscurely but 
ecstatically. He was, in fact,in a continual state of enthusiasm, 
She read the Sermon on the Mount. 

** Assez, assez, mon enfant, enough. . . . Don’t you think that 
that is enough ? ”’ 

And he closed his eyes helplessly. He was very weak, but 
had not yet lost consciousness. Sofya Matveyevna was getting 
up, thinking that he wanted to sleep. But he stopped her. 

*“‘ My friend, Pve been telling lies all my life. Even when I 
told the truth I never spoke for the sake of the truth, but always 
for my own sake. I knew it before, but I only see it now. . . 
Oh, where are those friends whom I have insulted with my 
friendship all my life? Andall, all! Savez-vows ... perhaps I 
am telling lies now ; no doubt I am telling lies now. The worst 
of it is that I believe myself when Iam lying. The hardest thing 
in life is to live without telling lies . . . and without believing 
in one’s lies. Yes, yes, that’s just it. . . . But wait a bit, that 
can all come afterwards. ... We'll be together, together,’ he 
added enthusiastically. 

“Stepan Trofimovitch,” Sofya Matveyevna asked timidly, 
‘“‘hadn’t I better send to the town for the doctor ? ”’ 

He was tremendously taken aback. 

“What for? Est-ce que je suis st malade? Mars rien de 
sérieux. What need have we of outsiders? They may find, 
besides—and what will happen then? No, no, no outsiders and 
we'll be together.”’ 

“Do you know,”’ he said after a pause, ‘“‘ read me something 
more, just the first thing you come across.”’ 

Sofya Matveyevna opened the Testament and began reading. 

‘“‘ Wherever it opens, wherever it happens to open,” he 
repeated. 

** * And unto the angel of the church of the Laodiceans ... 
** What’s that ? What is it? Where is that from ?”’ 

** It’s from the Revelation.” 

“Oh, je men souviens, oui, ’ Apocalypse. Lisez, lisez, I am 


29> 


614 THE POSSESSED 


trying our future fortunes by the book. I want to know what 
has turned up. Read on from there. tf 

‘“<* And unto the angel of the church of the TDaodioeans write : 
These things saith the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the 
beginning of the creation of God ; 

‘““*T know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot; 
I would thou wert cold or hot. 

‘*** So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor 
hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth. 

‘“ * Because thou sayest, I am rich and increased with goods, 
and have need of nothing: and thou knowest not that thou art 
wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked.’ ” 

‘* That too . . . and that’s in your book too! ”’ he exclaimed, 
with flashing eyes and raising his head from the pillow. “I 
never knew that grand passage! You hear, better be cold, 
better be cold than lukewarm, than only lukewarm. Oh, [ll 
prove it! Only don’t leave me, don’t leave me alone! We'll 
prove it, we’ll prove it!” 

“JT won’t leave you, Stepan Trofimovitch. I'll never leave 
you!” She took his hand, pressed it in both of hers, and laid 
it against her heart, looking at him with tears in her eyes. (“I> 
felt very sorry for him at that moment,”’ she said, describing it 
afterwards.) 

His lips twitched convulsively. 

“But, Stepan Trofimovitch, what are we to do though ? 
Oughtn’t we to let some of your friends know, or perhaps your 
relations 1? 

But at that he was so dismayed that she was very sorry that 
she had spoken of it again. Trembling and shaking, he besought 
her-to fetch no one, not to do anything. He kept insisting, ‘‘ No 
one, no one! We'll be alone, by ourselves, alone, nous partirons 
ensemble.”’ 

Another difficulty was that the people of the house too began 
to be uneasy; they grumbled, and kept pestering Sofya 
Matveyevna. She paid them and managed to let them see her 
money. This softened them for the time, but the man insisted 
on seeing Stepan Trofimovitch’s “ papers.” The invalid pointed 
with a supercilious smile to his little bag. Sofya Matveyevna 
found in it the certificate of his having resigned his post at the 
university, or something of the kind, which had served him as 
a passport all his life. The man persisted, and said that ‘‘ he 
must be taken somewhere, because their house wasn’t a hospital, 


STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 615 


and if he were to die there might be a bother. We should have 
no end of trouble.” Sofya Matveyevna tried to speak to him 
of the doctor, but it appeared that sending to the town would 
cost so much that she had to give up all idea of the doctor. She 
returned in distress to her invalid. Stepan Trofimovitch was 
getting weaker and weaker. 

** Now read me another passage. ... About the pigs,” he 


said suddenly. 
“What ?”’ asked Sofya Matveyevna, very much alarmed. 
‘About the pigs ... that’s there too . . . ces cochens. I 


remember the devils entered into swine and they all were 
drowned. You must read me that; Ill tell you why afterwards. 
1 want to remember it word for word. I want it word for 
word.” 

Sofya Matveyevna knew the gospel well and at once found 
the passage in St. Luke which I have chosen as the motto of my 
record. I quote it here again: 

‘““* And there was there one herd of many swine feeding on the 
mountain ; and they besought him that he would suffer them to 
enter into them. And he suffered them. 

“Then went the devils out of the man and entered into the 
swine; and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the 
lake, and were choked. 

** * When they that fed them saw what was done, they fled, and 
went and told it in the city and in the country. 

«Then they went out to see what was done; and came to 
Jesus and found the man, out of whom the devils were departed, 
sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed, and in his right mind; and 
they were afraid.’ ”’ 

‘My friend,” said Stepan Trofimovitch in great excitement 
** savez-vous, that wonderful and ... extraordinary passage 
has been a stumbling-block to me all my life . . . dans ce livre 

. so much so that I remembered those verses from child- 
hood. Now an idea has occurred to me; wne compararson. 
A great number of ideas keep coming into my mind now. You 
see, that’s exactly like our Russia, those devils that come out 
of the sick man and enter into the swine. They are all the sores, 
all the foul contagions, al! the impurities, all the devils great and 
small that have multiplied in that great invalid, our beloved 
Russia, in the course of ages and ages. Out, cette Russie que 
j aimats toujours. But a great idea and a great Will will encompass 
it from on high, as with that lunatic possessed of devils . . . and 


616 THE POSSESSED 


all those devils will come forth, all the impurity, all the rotten- '— 
ness that was putrefying on the surface . . . and they will beg 
of themselves to enter into swine ; and indeed maybe they have 
entered into them already! They are we, we and those... 
and Petrusha and les autres avec lut .. . and I perhaps at the 
head of them, and we shall cast ourselves down, possessed and 
raving, from the rocks into the sea, and we shall all be drowned— 
and a good thing too, for that is all we are fit for. But the sick 
man will be healed and ‘ will sit at the feet of Jesus,’ and all 
will look upon him with astonishment. ... My dear, vous 
comprendrez aprés, but now it excites me very much. .. . Vous 
comprendrez aprés. Nous comprendrons ensemble.” 

He sank into delirium and at last lost consciousness. So it 
went on all the following day. Sofya Matveyevna sat beside 
him, crying. She scarcely slept at all for three nights, and 
avoided seeing the people of the house, who were, she felt, 
beginning to take some steps. Deliverance only came on the 
third day. In the morning Stepan Trofimovitch returned to 
consciousness, recognised her, and held out his hand to her. She 
crossed herself hopefully. He wanted to look out of the window. 
““Tiens, un lac!” he said. ‘‘Good heavens, I had not seen it - 
before! ... At that moment there was the rumble of a 
carriage at the cottage door and a great hubbub in the house 
followed. 


III 


It was Varvara Petrovna herself. She had arrived, with Darya 
Pavlovna, in a closed carriage drawn by four horses, with two 
footmen. The marvel had happened in the simplest way: 
Anisim, dying of curiosity, went to Varvara Petrovna’s the day 
after he reached the town and gossiped to the servants, telling 
them he had met Stepan Trofimovitch alone in a village, that 
the latter had been seen by peasants walking by himself on the 
high road, and that he had set off for Spasov by way of Ustyevo 
accompanied by Sofya Matveyevna. As Varvara Petrovna was, 
for her part, in terrible anxiety and had done everything she 
could to find her fugitive friend, she was at once told about 
Anisim. When she had heard his story, especially the details 
of the departure for Ustyevo in a cart in the company of some 


STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 617 


Sofya Matveyevna, she instantly got ready and set off post-haste 
for Ustyevo herself, 

Her stern and peremptory voice resounded through the cottage ; 
even the landlord and his wife were intimidated. She had only 
stopped to question them and make inquiries, being persuaded 
that Stepan Trofimovitch must have reached Spasov long before. 
Learning that he was still here and ill, she entered the cottage in 
great agitation. 

“Well, where is he? Ah, that’s you!” she cried, seeing 
Sofya Matveyevna, who appeared at that very instant in the 
doorway of the next room. ‘I can guess from your shameless 
face that it’s you. Go away, you vile hussy! Don’t let me 
find a trace of her in the house! Turn her out, or else, my girl, 
Pll get you locked up for good. Keep her safe for a time in 
another house. She’s been in prison once already in the town ; 
she can go back there again. And you, my good man, don’t 
dare to let anyone in while I am here, I beg of you. I am 
Madame Stavrogin, and I’ll take the whole house. As for you, 
my dear, you'll have to give me a full account of it all.” 

The familiar sounds overwhelmed Stepan Trofimovitch. He 
began to tremble. But she had already stepped behind the 
screen. With flashing eyes she drew up a chair with her foot, 
and, sinking back in it, she shouted to Dasha : 

““Go away for a time! Stay in the other room. Why 
are you so inquisitive? And shut the door properly after 
you.” 

For some time she gazed in silence with a sort of predatory 
look into his frightened face. 

“Well, how are you getting on, Stepan Trofimovitch ? So 
you’ve been enjoying yourself ?’’ broke from her with ferocious 
irony. 

** Chere,” Stepan Trofimovitch faltered, not knowing what he 
was saying, “I’ve learnt to know real life in Russia .. . et je 
precherat ’ Evangile.” 

“Oh, shameless, ungrateful man!” she wailed suddenly, 
clasping her hands, ‘“‘ As though you had not disgraced me enough, 
you’ve taken up with . . . oh, you shameless old reprobate ! ”’ 

PORENe 2). 

His voice failed him and he could not articulate a syllable 
but simply gazed with eyes wide with horror. 

** Who is she?” 

“West un ange; c’était plus qu'un ange pour mot. She’s been 


618 THE POSSESSED 


all night ... Oh, don’t shout, don’t frighten her, chére, 
CHENG a et S 

With a loud noise, Varvara Petrovna pushed back her chair, 
uttering a loud ery of alarm. 

‘* Water, water ! ”’ 

Though he returned to consciousness, she was still shaking 
with terror, and, with pale cheeks, looked at his distorted face. 
It was only then, for the first time, that she guessed the serious- 
ness of his illness. 

‘* Darya,”’ she whispered suddenly to Darya Pavlovna, “‘ send 
at once for the doctor, for Salzfish ; let Yegorytch go at once. 
Let him hire horses here and get another carriage from the town. 
He must be here by night.” 

Dasha flew to do her bidding. Stepan Trofimovitch still 

gazed at her with the same wide-open, frightened eyes; his 
blanched lips quivered. 
“Wait a bit, Stepan Trofimovitch, wait a bit, my dear!” 
she said, coaxing him like a child. ‘There, there, wait a bit! 
Darya will come back and ... My goodness, the landlady, 
the landlady, you come, anyway, my good woman! ”’ 

In her impatience she ran herself to the landlady. 

“Fetch that woman back at once, this minute. Bring her 
back, bring her back!” 

Fortunately Sofya Matveyevna had not yet had time to get 
away and was only just going out of the gate with her pack and 
her bag. She was brought back. She was so panic-stricken that 
she was trembling in every limb. Varvara Petrovna pounced on 
her like a hawk on a chicken, seized her by the hand and dragged 
her impulsively to Stepan Trofimovitch. 

‘Here, here she is, then. I’ve not eaten her. You thought 
I’d eaten her.” 

Stepan Trofimovitch clutched Varvara Petrovna’s hand, raised 
it to his eyes, and burst into tears, sobbing violently and 
convulsively. 

“There, calm yourself, there, there, my dear, there, poor dear 
man! Ach, merey on us! Calm yourself, will you?” she 
shouted frantically. ‘‘ Oh, you bane of my life!” 

‘“ My dear,” Stepan Trofimovitch murmured at last, addressing 
Sofya Matveyevna, “stay out there, my dear, I want to say 
something here. . . .” 

Sofya Matveyevna hurried out at once. 

“Chérie ... chérie . . .” he gasped. 


STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 619 


“Don’t talk for a bit, Stepan Trofimovitch, wait a little till 
you've rested. Here’s some water. Do wait, will you!” 

She sat down on the chair again. Stepan Trofimovitch held 
her hand tight. For a long while she would not allow him 
to speak. He raised her hand to his lips and fell to kissing 
it. She set her teeth and looked away into the corner of the 
room. 

** Je vous aimais,” broke from him at last. She had never 
heard such words from him, uttered in such a voice. 

‘“*H’m!”’ she growled in response. 

“< Je vous avmais toute ma vie . . . vingtans!” 

She remained silent for two or three minutes. 

‘*And when you were getting yourself up for Dasha you 
sprinkled yourself with scent,”’ she said suddenly, in a terrible 
whisper. 

Stepan Trofimovitch was dumbfoundered. 

“You put on a new tie...” 

Again silence for two minutes. 

* Do you remember the cigar ? ” 

** My friend,” he faltered, overcome with horror. 

“That cigar at the windowin the evening . . . the mcon was 
shining .. . after the arbour . . . at Skvoreshniki? Do you 
remember, do you remember ?’’ She jumped up from her place, 
seized his pillow by the corners and shook it with his head on it. 
““Do you remember, you worthless, worthless, ignoble, cowardly, 
worthless man, always worthless!” she hissed in her furious 
whisper, restraining herself from speaking loudly. At last she 
left him and sank on the chair, covering her face with her hands. 
“Enough !”’ she snapped out, drawing herself up. ‘“‘ Twenty 
years have passed, there’s no calling them back. Iam a fool 
too.” 

“ Jevousaimais.” Heclasped his hands again. 

“Why do you keep on with your aimais and aimais? 
Enough!’ she cried, leaping up again. ‘‘ And if you don’t go 
to sleep at once ll . . . You need rest ; go to sleep, go to sleep 
at once, shut your eyes. Ach, mercy on us, perhaps he wants 
some lunch! What do you eat? What does he eat? Ach, 
-merey onus! Where is that woman? Where is she ?”’ 

There was a general bustle again. But Stepan Trofimovitch 
faltered in a weak voice that he really would like to go to sleep 
une heure, and then un bouillon, un thé . . . enfin tl est st heureux. 
He lay back and really did seem to go to sleep (he probably 


620 THE POSSESSED 


pretended to). Varvara Petrovna waited a little, and stole out 
on tiptoe from behind the partition. 

She settled herself in the landlady’s room, turned out the 
landlady and her husband, and told Dasha to bring her that 
woman. There followed an examination in earnest. 

‘Tell me all about it, my good girl. Sit down beside me ; 
that’s right. Well?” 

“I met Stepan Trofimovitch . 

‘“‘ Stay, hold your tongue! I warn you that if you tell lies OF 
conceal anything, I’ll ferret it out. Well?” 

‘Stepan Trofimovitch and I ...as soon as I came to 
Hatovo ...” Sofya Matveyevna began almost breathlessly. 

‘Stay, hold your tongue, wait a bit! Why do you gabble 
like that ? To begin with, what sort of creature are you ?”’ 

Sofya Matveyevna told her after a fashion, giving a very brief 
account of herself, however, beginning with Sevastopol. Varvara 
Petrovna listened in silence, sitting up erect in her chair, looking 
sternly straight into the speaker’s eyes. 

‘“Why are you so frightened ? ‘Why do you look at the 
ground ? JI like people who look me straight in the face and hold 
their own with me. Go on.” 

She told of their meeting, of her books, of how Stepan 
Trofimovitch had regaled the peasant woman with vodka... 

“That’s right, that’s right, don’t leave out the slightest 
detail,” Varvara Petrovna encouraged her. 

At last she described how they had set off, and how Stepan 
Trofimovitch had gone on talking, “‘ really ill by that time,’ and 
here had given an account of his life from the very beginning, 
talking for some hours. 

** Tell me about his life.”’ 

Sofya Matveyevna suddenly stopped and was completely 
nonplussed. | 

‘“*T can’t tell you anything about that, madam,”’ she brought 
out, almost crying; ‘‘ besides, I could hardly understand a word 
of it.” 

** Nonsense! You must have understood something.” 

‘He told a long time about a distinguished lady with black 
hair.” Sofya Matveyevna flushed terribly though she noticed 
Varvara Petrovna’s fair hair and her complete dissimilarity 
with the “‘ brunette ”’ of the story. 

‘* Black-haired ? What exactly ? Come, speak! ”’ 

“How this grand lady was deeply in love with his honour 


— ——— SE 


STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 621 


all her life long and for twenty years, but never dared to speak, 
and was shamefaced before him because she was a very stout 
atl y ches? 

“The fool!” Varvara Petrovna rapped out thoughtfully but 
resolutely. 

Sofya Matveyevna was in tears by now. 

** I don’t know how to tell any of it properly, madam, because 
I was in a great fright over his honour ; and I couldn’t understand, 
as he is such an intellectual gentleman.” 

*‘ It’s not for a goose like you to judge of his intellect. Did 
he offer you his hand ? ”’ 

The speaker trembled. 

“Did he fall in love with you? Speak! Did he offer you 
his hand ?”’ Varvara Petrovna shouted peremptorily. 

“That was pretty much how it was,” she murmured tear- 
fully. ‘‘ But I took it all to mean nothing, because of his illness,”’ 
she added firmly, raising her eyes. 

** What is your name ? ”’ 

** Sofya Matveyevna, madam,”’ 

*‘ Well, then, let me tell you, Sofya Matveyevna, that he is a 
wretched and worthless little man. . . . Good Lord! Do you 
look upon me as a wicked woman ? ” 

Sofya Matveyevna gazed open-eyed. 

‘‘ A wicked woman, a tyrant ? Who has ruined his life ? ” 

**'How can that be when you are crying yourself, madam ? ” 

Varvara Petrovna actually had tears in her eyes. 

** Well, sit down, sit down, don’t be frightened. Look me 
straight in the face again. Why are you blushing? Dasha, 
come here. Look at her. What do you’ think of her? Her 
heart is pure. . . .” 

And to the amazement and perhaps still greater alarm of 
Sofya Matveyevna, she suddenly patted her on the cheek. 

“It’s only a pity she is a fool. Too great a fool for her age. 
That’s all right, my dear, I'll look after you. I see that it’s all 
nonsense. Stay near here for the time. A room shall be taken 
for you and you shall have food and everything else from me 
... till l ask for you.” 

Sofya Matveyevna stammered in alarm that she must hurry on. 

‘“*-You’ve no need to hurry. ll buy all your books, and mean-— 
time you stay here. Hold your tongue; don’t make excuses. 
If I hadn’t come you would have stayed with him all the same, 
wouldn’t you?” 


622 THE POSSESSED 


‘* | wouldn’t have left him on any account,” Sofya Matveyevna ' 
brought out softly and firmly, wiping her tears. ' 

It was late at night when Doctor Salzfish was brought. He ) 
was a very respectable old man and a practitioner of fairly wide 
experience who had recently lost his post in the service in con- 
sequence of some quarrel on a point of honour with his superiors. 
Varvara Petrovna instantly and actively took him under her 
protection. He examined the patient attentively, questioned 
him, and cautiously pronounced to Varvara Petrovna that “‘the 
sufferer’s ’’ condition was highly dubious in consequence of | 
complications, and that they must be prepared “even for the 
worst.’”’ Varvara Petrovna, who had during twenty years got 
accustomed to expecting nothing serious or decisive to come from 
Stepan Trofimovitch, was deeply moved and even turned pale. 

‘‘ Is there really no hope ? ” 

‘‘Can there ever be said to be absolutelyno hope? But...” 

She did not go to bed all night, and felt that the morning 
would never come. As soon as the patient opened his eyes and 
returned to consciousness (he was conscious all the time, how- 
ever, though he was growing weaker every hour), she went up 
to him with a very resolute air. | 

“Stepan Trofimovitch, one must be prepared for anything. 
I’ve sent for a priest. You must do what is right. . 

Knowing his convictions, she was terribly afraid of his refusing. 
He looked at her with surprise. 


** Nonsense, nonsense!’ she vociferated, thinking he was 
already refusing. “This is no time for whims. You have 
played the fool enough.” 

“But ... am really so ill, then?” 


He agreed thoughtfully. And indeed I was much surprised 
to learn from Varvara Petrovna afterwards that he showed no 
fear of death at all. Possibly it was that he simply did not 
believe it, and still looked upon his illness as a trifling one. 

He confessed and took the sacrament very readily. Every 
one, Sofya Matveyevna, and even the servants, came to con- 
gratulate him on taking the sacrament. They were all moved 
to tears looking at his sunken and exhausted face and his blanched 
and quivering lips. 

“Oui, mes amis, and I only wonder that you . . . take so 
much trouble. I shall most likely get up to-morrow, and we 
will . . . set off. . . . Toute cette cérémonie . . . for which, of 
course, I feel every proper respect ... was... .” 


STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 623 


** I beg you, father, to remain with the invalid,” said Varvara 
Petrovna hurriedly, stopping the priest, who had already taken 
off his vestments. ‘* As soon as tea has been handed, I beg you 
to begin to speak of religion, to support his faith.” 

The priest spoke ; every one was standing or sitting round the 
sick-bed. 

“‘In our sinful days,” the priest began smoothly, with a cup 
of tea in his hand, “ faith in the Most High is the sole refuge of 
the race of man in all the trials and tribulations of life, as well 
as its hope for that eternal bliss promised to the righteous.” 

Stepan Trofimovitch seemed to revive, a subtle smile strayed 
on his lips. 

*“* Mon pére, je vous remercie et vous étes bien bon, mais... 


bP] 


‘No mais about it, no mats at all!” exclaimed Varvara 
Petroyna, bounding up from her chair. ‘‘ Father,’’ she said, 
addressing the priest, “heisamanwho...heisamanwho.. 


You will have to confess him again in another hour! That’s the 
sort of man he is.” 

Stepan Trofimovitch smiled faintly. 

“My friends,” he said, ‘“‘God is necessary to me, if only 

because He is the only being whom one can love eternally.” 
- Whether he was really converted, or whether the stately 
ceremony of the administration of the sacrament had impressed 
him and stirred the artistic responsiveness of his temperament 
or not, he firmly and, I am told, with great feeling uttered some 
words which were in flat contradiction with many of his former 
convictions. 

‘‘My immortality is necessary if only because God will not 
be guilty of injustice and extinguish altogether the flame of 
love for Him once kindled in my heart. And what is more 
precious than love? Love is higher than existence, love is the 
crown of existence ; and how is it possible that existence should 
not be under its dominance ? If I have once loved Him and 
rejoiced in my love, is it possible that He should extinguish me 
and my joy and bring me to nothingness again ? If there is a 
God, then Iam immortal. Voila ma profession de fot.” 

“There is a God, Stepan Trofimovitch, I assure you there is,”’ 
_ Varvara Petrovna implored him. “Give it up, drop all your 
foolishness for once in your life!” (I think she had not quite 
understood his profession de foi.) 

‘*“My friend,” he said, growing more and more animated, 
though his voice broke frequently, “‘as soon as I understood 


624 THE POSSESSED 


. . that turning of the cheek, I... understood something 
else as well. J’at menti toute ma vie, all my life, all! I should 
like . . . but that will do to-morrow. . .. To-morrow we will 
all set out.” 

Varvara Petrovna burst into tears. He was looking about for 
some one. 

‘‘ Here she is, she is here!’ She seized Sofya Matveyevna by 
the hand and led her to him. He smiled tenderly. 

‘Qh, I should dearly like to live again!” he exclaimed with 
an extraordinary rush of energy. ‘‘ Every minute, every instant 
of life ought to be a blessing to man . . . they ought to be, they 
certainly ought to be! It’s the duty of man to make it so; 
that’s the law of his nature, which always exists even if hidden. 
. . . Oh, I wish I could see Petrusha ... andallofthem... 
Shatov ...” 

I may remark that as yet no one had heard of Shatov’s fate— 
not Varvara Petrovna nor Darya Pavlovna, nor even Salzfish, 
who was the last to come from the town. 

Stepan Trofimovitch became more and more excited, feverishly 
80, beyond his strength. 


Se a 


ee a 


ee oe ey 


ee ee eS ee 


—— 


‘““The mere fact of the ever present idea that there exists — 


something infinitely more just and more happy than I am fills 
me through and through with tender ecstasy—and glorifies me— 
oh, whoever I may be, whatever 1 have done! What is far more 
essential for man than personal happiness is to know and to 
believe at every instant that there is somewhere a perfect and 
serene happiness for all men and for everything. . . . The one 
essential condition of human existence is that man should always 
be able to bow down before something infinitely great. If men 
are deprived of the infinitely great they will not go on living and 
will die of despair. The Infinite and the Eternal are as essential 
for man as the little planet on which he dwells. My friends, all, 
all: hail to the Great Idea! The Eternal, Infinite Idea! It is 
essential to every man, whoever he may be, to bow down before 
what is the Great Idea. Even the stupidest man needs some- 
thing great. Petrusha ...oh, how I want to see them all 
again! They don’t know, they don’t know that that same 
Eternal, Grand Idea lies in them all!” 

Doctor Salzfish was not present at the ceremony. Coming 
in suddenly, he was horrified, and cleared the room, insisting 
that the patient must not be excited. 

Stepan Trofimovitch died three days later, but by that time 


_STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH’S LAST WANDERING 625 


he was completely unconscious. He quietly went out like a 
candle that is burnt down. After having the funeral service 
performed, Varvara Petrovna took the body of her poor friend 
to Skvoreshniki. His grave is in the precincts of the church 
and is already covered with a marble slab. The inscription and 
the railing will be added in the spring. 

Varvara Petrovna’s absence from town had lasted eight days 
Sofya Matveyevna arrived in the carriage with her and seems to 
have settled with her for good. I may mention that as soon as 
Stepan Trofimovitch lost consciousness (the morning that he 
received the sacrament) Varvara Petrovna promptly asked 
Sofya Matveyevna to leave the cottage again, and waited on the 
invalid herself unassisted to the end, but she sent for her at 
once when he had breathed his last. Sofya Matveyevna was 
terribly alarmed by Varvara Petrovna’s proposition, or rather 
command, that she should settle for good at Skvoreshniki, but 
the latter refused to listen to her protests. 

‘“‘That’s all nonsense! I will go with you to sell the gospel. 
J have no one in the world now.” 

‘‘ You have a son, however,”’ Salzfish observed. 

‘“‘T have no son! ”’ Varvara Petrovna snapped out—and it was 
like a prophecy. 


2B 


CHAPTER VIII 
CONCLUSION 


Aut the crimes and villainies that had been. perpetrated were 
discovered with extraordinary rapidity, much more quickly 
than Pyotr Stepanovitch had expected. To begin with, the 
lueckless Marya Ignatyevna waked up before daybreak on the 
night. of her husband’s. murder, missed him and flew into in-. 
describable agitation, not seeing him beside her. The woman who 
had been hired by Arina Prohorovna, and was there for the; 
night, could not succeed in calming her, and as soon as it was, 
daylight ran to fetch Arina Prohorovna herself, assuring the, 
invalid that the latter knew where her husband was, and when, 
he would be back. Meantime Arina Prohorovna was in some 
anxiety too; she had already heard from her husband of the 
deed perpetrated that night at Skvoreshniki. He had returned 
home about eleven o’clock in a terrible state of mind and body ; 
wringing his hands, he flung himself face downwards on his bed 
and shaking with convulsive sobs kept repeating, “It’s not right, 
it’s not right, it’s not right at all!’’ He ended, of course, by 
confessing it all to Arina Prohorovna—but to no one else in the 
house. She left him on his bed, sternly impressing upon him 
that “if he must blubber he must do it in his pillow so as not to 
be overheard, and that he would bea fool if he showed any traces 
of itnextday.”’ She felt somewhat anxious, however, and began 
at once to clear things up in case of emergency : she succeeded 
in hiding or completely destroying all suspicious papers, books, 
manifestoes perhaps. At the same time she reflected that she, 
her sister, her aunt, her sister-in-law the student, and perhaps 
even her long-eared brother had really nothing much to be 
afraid of. When the nurse ran to her in the morning she went 
without a second thought to Marya Ignatyevna’s. She was 
desperately anxious, moreover, to find out whether what her 
husband had told her that night in a terrified and frantic whisper, 
that was almost like delirium, was true—that is, whether Pyotr 
Stepanovitch had been right in his reckoning that Kirillov 
would sacrifice himself for the general benefit. 

But she arrived at Marya Ignatyevna’s too late: when the 


latter had sent off the woman and was left alone, she was unable 
626 


CONCLUSION 627 


to bear the suspense ; she got out of bed, and throwing round her 
the first garment she could find, something very light and un- 
suitable for the weather, I believe, she ran down to Kirillov’s 
lodge herself, thinking that he perhaps would be better able 
than anyone to tell her something about her husband. The 
terrible effect on her of what she saw there may well be imagined. 
It is remarkable that she did not read Kirillov’s last letter, which 
lay conspicuously on the table, overlooking it, of course, in her 
fright. She ran back to her room, snatched up her baby, and 
went with it out of the house into the street. It was a damp 
morning, there was a fog. She met no passers-by in such an 
out-of-the-way street. She ran on breathless through the wet, 
cold mud, and at last began knocking at the doors of the houses. 
In the first house no one came to the door, in the second they 
were so long in coming that she gave it up impatiently and 
began knocking at a third door. This was the house of a 
merchant called Titov. Here she wailed and kept declaring 
incoherently that. her husband was murdered, causing a great 
flutter in the house. Something was known about Shatov and 
his story in the Titov household; they were horror-stricken 
that she should be running about the streets in such attire 
and in such cold with the baby scarcely covered in her arms, 
when, according to her story, she had only been confined the day 
before. They thought at first that she was delirious, especially as 
they could not make out whether it was Kirillov who was murdered 
or her husband. Seeing that they did not believe her she would 
have run on farther; but they kept her by force, and I am told 
she screamed and struggled terribly. They went to Filipov’s, 
and within two hours Kirillov’s suicide and the letter he had 
left were known to the whole town. The police came to question 
Marya Ignatyevna, who was still conscious, and it appeared at 
once that she had not read Kirillov’s letter, and they could not 
find out from her what had led her to conclude that her husband 
had been murdered. She only screamed that if Kirillov was 
murdered, then her husband was murdered, they were together. 
Towards midday she sank into a state of unconsciousness from 
which she never recovered, and she died three days later. The 
baby had caught cold and died before her. 

Arina Prohorovna not finding Marya Ignatyevna and the 
baby, and guessing something was wrong, was about to run 
home, but she checked herself at the gate and sent the nurse to 
inquire of the gentleman at the lodge whether Marya Ignatyevna 


628 THE POSSESSED 


was not there and whether he knew anything about her. 
The woman came back screaming frantically. Persuading her 
not to scream and not to tell anyone by the time-honoured 
argument that ‘“‘she would get into trouble,” she stole out of 
the yard. 

It goes without saying that she was questioned the same 
morning as having acted as midwife to Marya Ignatyevna ; 
but they did not get much out of her. She gave.a very cool 
and sensible account of all she had herself heard and seen at 
Shatov’s, but as to what had happened she declared that she 
knew nothing, and could not understand it. 

It may well be imagined what an uproar there was in the 
town. A new “sensation,’’ another murder! But there was 
another element in this case: it was clear that a secret society 
of murderers, incendiaries, and revolutionists did exist, did 
actually exist. Liza’s terrible death, the murder of Stavrogin’s 
wife, Stavrogin himself, the fire, the ball for the benefit of the 
governesses, the laxity of manners and morals in Yulia Mihail- 
ovna’s circle. ... Even in the disappearanee of Stepan 
Trofimovitch people insisted’ on scenting a mystery. All sorts 
of things were whispered about Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. By 
the end of the day people knew of Pyotr Stepanovitch’s absence 
too, and, strange to say, less was said of him than of anyone. 
What was talked of most all that day was ‘‘the senator.’ 
There was a crowd almost all day at Filipov’s house. The 
police certainly were led astray by Kirillov’s letter. They 
believed that Kirillov had murdered Shatov and had himself 
committed suicide. Yet, though the authorities were thrown 
into perplexity, they were not altogether hoodwinked. The 
word “park,’’ for instance, so vaguely inserted in Kirillov’s 
letter, did not puzzle anyone as Pyotr Stepanovitch had expected 
it would. The police at once made a rush for Skvoreshniki, 


not simply because it was the only park in the neighbourhood, 


but also led thither by a sort of instinct because all the horrors 


of the last few days were connected directly or indirectly with 


Skvoreshniki. That at least is my theory. (I may remark that’ 
Varvara Petrovna had driven off early that morning in chase of | 
Stepan Trofimovitch, and knew nothing of Achat had happened : 


in the town.) 


The body was found in the pond that evening. What led 
to the discovery of it was the finding of Shatov’s cap at the 
scene of the murder. where it had been with extraordinary care- 


CONCLUSION 629 


lessness overlooked by the murderers. The appearance of the 
body, the medical examination and certain deductions from it 
roused immediate suspicions that Kirillov must have had 
accomplices. It became evident that a secret society really did 
exist of which Shatov and Kirillov were members and which was 
connected with the manifestoes. Who were these accomplices ? 
No one even thought of any member of the quintet that day. 
It was ascertained that Kirillov had lived like a hermit, and in 
_ so complete a seclusion that it had been possible, as stated in the 
letter, for Fedka to lodge with him for so many days, even while 
an active search was being made for him. The chief thing that 
worried every one was the impossibility of discovering a connect- 
ing-link in this chaos. 

_ There is no saying what conclusions and what disconnected 
theories our panic-stricken townspeople would have reached, 
if the whole mystery had not been suddenly solved next day, 
thanks to Lyamshin. 

He broke down. He behaved as even Pyotr Stepanovitch 
had towards the end begun to fear he would. Left in charge 
of Tolkatchenko, and afterwards of Erkel, he spent all the 
following day lying in his bed with his face turned to the wall, 
apparently calm, not uttering a word, and scarcely answering 
when he was spoken to. This is how it was that he heard 
nothing all day of what was happening in the town. But 
Tolkatchenko, who was very well informed about everything, 
took into his head by the evening to throw up the task of watch- 
ing Lyamshin which Pyotr Stepanovitch had laid upon him, 
and left the town, that is, to put it plainly, made his escape ; 
the fact is, they lost their heads as Erkel had predicted they 
would. I may mention, by the way, that Liputin had dis- 
appeared the same day before twelve o’clock. But things fell 
out so that his disappearance did not become known to the 
authorities till the evening of the following day, when the police 
went to question his family, who were panic-stricken at his 
absence but kept quiet from fear of consequences. But to 
return to Lyamshin: as soon as he was left alone (Erkel had 
gone home earlier, relying on Tolkatchenko) he ran out of his 
_house, and, of course, very soon learned the position of afiairs. 
Without even returning home he too tried torun away without 
knowing where he was going. But the night was so dark and 
to escape was so terrible and difficult, that after going through 
two or three streets, he returned home and locked himself up 


630 THE POSSESSED 


for the whole night. 1 believe that towards morning he 
attempted to commit suicide but did not succeed. He re- 
mained locked up till midday—and then suddenly he ran to ‘the 
authorities. He is said to have crawled on his knees, to have 
sobbed and shrieked, to have kissed the floor crying out that 
he was not worthy to kiss the boots of the officials standing 
before him. They soothed him, were positively affable to him. 
His examination lasted, I am told, for three hours. He con- 
fessed everything, everything, told every detail; everything he 
knew, every point, anticipating their questions, hurried to make 
a clean breast of it all, volunteering unnecessary informa- 
tion without being asked. It turned out that he knew enough, 
and presented things in a fairly true light: the tragedy of 
Shatov and Kirillov, the fire, the death of the Lebyadkins, and 
the rest of it were relegated to the background. Pyotr Stepano- 
vitch, the secret society, the organisation, and the network were 
put in the first place. When asked what was the object of so 
many murders and scandals and dastardly outrages, he 
answered with feverish haste that “it was with the ‘idea of 
systematically undermining the foundations, systematically 
destroying society'and all principles ; with the idea of nonplussing 
every one and making hay of everything, and then, when society 
was tottering, sick and out of joint, cynical and sceptical ‘though 
filled with an intense eagerness for self-preservation and for some 
guiding idea, suddenly to seize it in their hands, raising the 
standard of revolt and relying on a complete network of 
quintets, which were actively, meanwhile, gathering recruits and 
seeking out the weak spots which could be attacked.” In con- 
clusion, he said that here in our town Pyotr Stepanovitch had — 
organised only the first experiment in such systematic disorder, 
so to speak as a programme for further activity, and for all 
the quintets—and that this was his own (Lyamshin’s) idea, his 
own theory, “and that he hoped they would remember it and 
bear in mind how openly and properly he had given his informa- 
tion, and therefore might be of use hereafter.” Being asked 
definitely how many quintets there were, he answered that there 
were immense numbers of them, that all Russia was overspread 
with a network, and although he brought forward no proofs, I 
believe his answer was perfectly sincere. He produced only 
the programme of the society, printed abroad, and the plan for 
developing a system of future activity roughly sketched in Pyotr 
Stepanovitch’s own handwriting. It appeared that Lyamshin 


CONCLUSION 631 


had quoted the phrase about ‘ undermining the foundations,” 
word for word from this document, not omitting a single stop 
or comma, though he had declared that it was all his own theory. 
Of Yulia Mihailovna he very funnily and quite without provoca- 
tion volunteered the remark, that ‘‘she was innocent and 
had been made a fool of.’ But, strange to say, he exone- 
rated Nikolay Stavrogin from all share in the secret society; 
from any collaboration with Pyotr Stepanovitch. (Lyamshin 
had no conception of the secret and very absurd hopes that 
Pyotr Stepanovitch was resting on Stavrogin.) According to 
his story Nikolay Stavrogin had nothing whatever to do with 
the death of the Lebyadkins, which had been planned by Pyotr 
Stepanovitch alone and with the subtle aim of implicating the 
former in the crime, and therefore making him dependent on 
Pyotr Stepanovitch ; but instead of the gratitude on which 
Pyotr Stepanovitch had reckoned with shallow confidence, he 
had roused nothing but indignation and even despair in “‘ the 
generous heart of Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch.” He wound up by 
a hint, evidently intentional, volunteered hastily, that Stavrogin 
was perhaps a very important personage, but that there was 
some secret about that, that he had been living among us, so to 
say, incognito, that he had some commission, and that very 
possibly he would come back to us again from Petersburg. 
(Lyamshin was convinced that Stavrogin had gone to Peters- 
burg), but in quite a different capacity and in different surround- 
ings, in the suite of persons of whom perhaps we should soon 
hear, and that all this he had heard from (Pyotr Stepanovitch, 
‘*‘ Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s secret enemy.’ 

Here I will note that two months. later, Lyamshin admitted 
that he had exonerated Stavrogin on purpose, hoping that he 
would protect him and would obtain for him a mitigation in 
the second degree of his sentence, and that he would provide 
him with money and letters of introduction in Siberia. From 
this confession it is evident that he had an extraordinarily 
exaggerated conception of Stavrogin’s powers. 

On the same day, of course, the police arrested Virginsky and 
in their zeal took his whole family too. (Arina Prohorovna, her 
sister, aunt, and even the girl student were released long ago ; 
they say that Shigalov too will be set free very shortly because 
he cannot be classed with any of the other prisoners. But all 
that is so far only gossip.) Virginsky at once pleaded guilty. 
He was lying ill with fever when he was arrested. I am told 


632 THE POSSESSED 


that he seemed almost relieved; ‘‘it was a load off his heart,” 
he is reported to have said. It is rumoured that he is giving 
his evidence without reservation, but with a certain dignity, 
and has not given up any of his “ bright hopes,” though at the 
same time he curses the political method (as opposed to the 
Socialist one), in which he had been unwittingly and heedlessly 
carried “by the vortex of combined circumstances.” His 
conduct at the time of the murder has been put in a favourable 
light, and I imagine that he too may reckon on some mitigation 
* of his sentence. That at least is what is asserted in the town. 

But I doubt whether there is any hope for mercy in Erkel’s 
case. Ever since his arrest he has been obstinately silent, or 
has misrepresented the facts as far as he could. Not one word 
of regret has been wrung from him so far. Yet even the sternest 
of the judges trying him has been moved to some compassion 
by his youth, by his helplessness, by the unmistakable evidence 
that he is nothing but a fanatical victim of a political impostor, 
and, most of all, by his conduct to his mother, to whom, as it 
appears, he used to send almost the half of his small salary. 
His mother is now in the town; she is a delicate and ailing 
woman, aged beyond her years ; she weeps and positively grovels 
on the ground imploring mercy for her son. Whatever may 
happen, many among us feel sorry for Erkel. 

Liputin was arrested in Petersburg, where he had been living for 
a fortnight. His conduct there sounds almost incredible and is 
difficult to explain. He is said to have had a passport in a forged 
name and quite a large sum of money upon him, and had every 
possibility of escaping abroad, yet instead of going he remained 
in Petersburg. He spent some time hunting for Stavrogin and 
Pyotr Stepanovitch. Suddenly he took to drinking and gave 
himself up to a debauchery that exceeded all bounds, like a 
man who had lost all reason and understanding of his position. 
He was arrested in Petersburg drunk in a brothel. There is 
a rumour that he has not by any means lost heart, that he tells 
lies in his evidence and is preparing for the approaching trial 
hopefully (?) and, as it were, triumphantly. He even intends 
to make a speech at the trial. Tolkatchenko, who was arrested 
in the neighbourhood ten days after his flight, behaves with 
incomparably more decorum; he does not shuffle or tell lies, 
he tells all he knows, does not justify himself, blames himself with 
all modesty, though he, too, has a weakness for rhetoric ; he tells 
readily what he knows, and when knowledge of the peasantry 


CONCLUSION 633 


and the revolutionary (?) elements among them is touched upon, 
he positively attitudinises and is eager to produce an effect. He, 
too, is meaning, I am told, tomakeaspeech at the trial. Neither 
he nor Liputin seem very much afraid, curious as it seems. 

I repeat that the case is not yet over. Now, three months 
afterwards, local society has had time to rest, has recovered, has 
got over it, has an opinion of its own, so much so that some 
people positively look upon Pyotr Stepanovitch as a genius or 
at least as possessed of “‘some characteristics of a genius.” 
“Organisation!” they say at the club, holding up a finger. 
But all this is very innocent and there are not many people 
who talk like that. Others, on the other hand, do not deny his 
acuteness, but point out that he was utterly ignorant of real 
life, that he was terribly theoretical, grotesquely and stupidly 
one-sided, and consequently shallow in the extreme. As for 
his moral qualities all are agreed; about that there are no two 
opinions. 

I do not know whom to mention next so as not to forget 
anyone. Mavriky Nikolaevitch has gone away for good, I don’t 
know where. Old Madame Drozdov has sunk into dotage. ... 
I have still one very gloomy story to tell, however. I will confine 
myself to the bare facts. 

On her return from Ustyevo, Varvara Petrovna stayed at her 
town house. All the accumulated news broke upon her at once 
and gave her a terrible shock. She shut herself up alone. It 
was evening ; every one was tired and went to bed early. 

In the morning a maid with a mysterious air handed a note 
to Darya Pavlovna. The note had, so she said, arrived the 
evening before, but late, when all had gone to bed, so that she 
had not ventured to wake her. It had not come by post, but 
had been put in Alexey Yegorytch’s hand in Skvoreshniki by 
some unknown person. And Alexey Yegorytch had immediately 
set off and put it into her hands himself and had then returned 
to Skvoreshniki. 

For a long while Darya Pavlovna gazed at the letter with 
a beating heart, and dared not open it. She knew from whom 
it came: the writer was Nikolay Stavrogin. She read what 
was written on the envelope: “‘To Alexey Yegorytch, to be 
given secretly to Darya Pavlovna.” 

Here is the letter word for word, without the slightest correction 
of the defects in style of a Russian aristocrat who had never 
mastered the Russian grammar in spite of his Kuropean education. 


634 THE POSSESSED 


‘“‘ DEAR Darya PavLovna,—At one time you expressed a wish 
to be my nurse and made me promise to send for you when 
I wanted you. lam going away in two days and shall not come 
back. Will you go with me? 

‘* Last year, like Herzen, I was naturalised as a citizen of the 
eanton of Uri, and that nobody knows. ‘There I’ve already 
bought. a little house. I’ve still twelve thousand roubles left ; 
we'll go and live there forever. I don’t want to go anywhere 
else ever. 

“It’s a very dull place, a narrow valley, the mountains 
restrict both vision and thought. It’s very gloomy. I chose 
the place because there was a little house to be sold. If you 
don’t like it Pl sell:it and buy another in some other place. 

‘Tam not well, but I hope to get rid of hallucinations in that 
air. It’s physical, and as for the moral you know everything ; 
but do you know all ? 

‘“Tve told you a great deal of my life, but not all. Even to 
you! Not all. By the way, I repeat that in my conscience 
I feel myself responsible for my wife’s death. I haven’t seen 
you since then, that’s why I repeat it. 1 feel guilty about 
iazaveta Nikolaevna too; but you know about that ; you fore- 
told almost all that. 

‘* Better not come to me. My asking you to is a horrible 
meanness. And why should you bury your life withme? You 
are dear to me, and when I was miserable it was good to be 
beside you; only with you I could speak of myself aloud. 
But that proves nothing. You defined it yourself, ‘a nurse ’— 
it’s your own expression ; why sacrifice so much? Grasp this, 
too, that I have no pity for you since I ask you, and no respect 
for you since [reckon on you. And yet I ask you and I reckon 
on you. In any case I need your answer for 1 must set off very 
soon. In that case I shall go alone. 

“IT expect nothing of Uri; I am simply going. I have not 
chosen a gloomy place on purpose. I have no ties in Russia— 
everything is as alien to me there as everywhere. It’s true that 
I dislike living there more than anywhere; but I can’t hate 
anything even there! | 

‘“Tve tried my strength everywhere. You advised me to do 
this ‘that I might learn to know myself.’ As long as I was 
experimenting for myself and for others it seemed infinite, as it 
has all my life. Before your eyes I endured a blow from your 
brother ; I acknowledged my marriage in public. But to what 


CONCLUSION 635 


to apply my strength, that is what I’ve never seen, and do not 
see now in spite of all your praises in Switzerland, which I 
believed in. I am still capable, as I always was, of desiring 
to do something good, and of feeling pleasure from it; at the 
same time I desire evil and feel pleasure from that too. But 
both feelings are always too petty, and are never very strong. 
My desires are too weak; they are not enough to guide me. Ona 
log ‘one may cross a river but not onachip. I say this that 
you may not believe that I am going to Uri with hopes of any 
sort. | 

*“As always 1 blame no one. Ive tried the depths of de- 
bauchery and wasted my strength over it. But I don’t like 
vice and I didn’t want it. You have been watching me of late. 
Do you know that I looked upon our iconoclasts with spite, 
from envy of their hopes? But you had no need to be afraid. 
T'could not have been one of them for I never shared anything 
with them. And to do it for fun, from spite I could not either, 
not because I am afraid of the ridiculous—I cannot be afraid of 
the ridiculous—but because I have, after all, the habits of a 
gentleman and it disgusted me. But if I had felt more spite 
and envy of them I might perhaps have joined them. You can 
_ judge how hard it has been for me, and how I’ve struggled 
from one thing to another. 

“Dear friend! Great and tender heart which I divined! 
Perhaps you dream of giving me so much love and lavishing on 
me so much that is beautiful from your beautiful soul, that you 
hope to set. up some aim for me at last by it? No, it’s better 
for you to be more cautious, my love will be as petty as I am 
myself and you will be unhappy. Your brother told me that 
the man who loses connection with his country loses his gods, 
that is, all his aims. One may argue about everything endlessly, 
but from me nothing has come but negation, with no greatness 
of soul, noforce. Even negation has not come from me. LEvery- 
thing has always been petty and spiritless. Kiurillov, in the 
greatness of his soul, could not compromise with an idea, and 
shot himself; but I see, of course, that he was great-souled 
because he had lost his reason. I can never lose my reason, 
and I can never believe in an idea to such a degree as he did. 
I cannot even be interested in an idea to such a degree. I can 
never, never shoot myself. 

‘I know I ought to kill myself, to brush myself off the earth 
like a nasty insect; but 1 am afraid of suicide, for 1 am afraid 


636 THE POSSESSED 


of showing greatness of soul. I know that it will be another 
sham again—the last deception in an endless series of deceptions. 
What good is there in deceiving oneself? Simply to play at 
greatness of soul? Indignation and shame I can never feel, 
therefore not despair. 

‘‘ Forgive me for writing so much. I wrote without noticing. 
A hundred pages would be too little and ten lines would be 
enough. Ten lines would be enough to ask you to be a nurse. 
Since I left Skvoreshniki ve been living at the sixth station on 
the line, at the stationmaster’s. I got to know him in the time 
of debauchery five years ago in Petersburg. No one knows I 
am living there. Write to him. I enclose the address. 

‘“‘ NIKOLAY STAVROGIN.” 


Darya Pavlovna went at once and showed the letter to Varvara 
Petrovna. She read it and asked Dasha to go out of the room 
so that she might read it again alone; but she called her back 
very quickly. 

** Are you going ?”’ she asked almost timidly. 

**T am going,’ answered Dasha. 

“Get ready! We'll go together,” 

Dasha looked at her inquiringly. 

‘“‘ What is there left for me to do here? What difficulty ca 
it make? Ill be naturalised in Uri, too, and live in the 
valley. . . . Don’t be uneasy, I won’t be in the way.’’ 

They began packing quickly to be in time to catch the midday 
train. But in less than half an hour’s time Alexey Yegorytch 
arrived from Skvoreshniki. He announced that Nikolay 
Vsyevolodovitch had suddenly arrived that morning by the 
early train, and was now at Skvoreshniki but ‘“‘in such a state 
that his honour did not answer any questions, walked through 
all the rooms and shut himself up in his own wing. .. .” 

‘Though I received no orders I thought it best to come and 
inform you,’’ Alexey Yegorytch concluded with a very signifi- 
cant expression. 

Varvara Petrovna looked at him searchingly and did not 
question him.. The carriage was got ready instantly. Varvara 
Petrovna set off with Dasha. They say that she kept crossing 
herself on the journey. 

In Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch’s wing of the house all the doors 
were open and he was nowhere to be seen. 

** Wouldn’t he be upstairs ?”’ Fomushka ventured. 


CONCLUSION 637 


It was remarkable that several servants followed Varvara 
Petrovna while the others all stood waiting in the drawing-room. 
They would never have dared to commit such a breach of 
etiquette before. Varvara Petrovna saw it and said nothing. 

They went upstairs. There there were three rooms; but 
they found no one there. 

*“Wouldn’t his honour have gone up there?” some one 
suggested, pointing to the door of the loft.. And in fact, the 
door of the loft which was always closed had been opened and 
was standing ajar. The loft was right under the roof and was 
reached by a long, very steep and narrow wooden ladder. There 
was a sort of little room up there too. 

“IT am not going up there. Why should he go up there?” 
said Varvara Petrovna, turning terribly pale as she looked at the 
servants. They gazed back at her and said nothing. Dasha 
was trembling. 

Varvara Petrovna rushed up the ladder; Dasha followed, 
but she had hardly entered the loft when she uttered a scream 
and fell senseless. 

The citizen of the canton of Uri was hanging there behind the 
door. On the table lay a piece of paper with the words in 
pencil: “‘ No one is to blame, I did it myself.”’ Beside it on the 
table lay a hammer, a piece of soap, and a large nail—obviously 
an extra one in case of need. The strong silk cord upon which 
Nikolay Veyevolodovitch had hanged himself had evidently 
been chosen and prepared beforehand and was thickly smeared 
with soap. Everything proved that there had been premedita- 
tion and consciousness up to the last moment. 

At the inquest our doctors absolutely and emphatically 
rejected all idea of insanity. 


THE END 









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